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The  Badminton  Magazine  of 
Sports  &  Pastimes 

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Vol.  XXII. 

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ALFRED    E.    T.    WATSON 

Volume  XXII. 

JANUARY    TO    JUNE     7906 



A//  righis  reserved 

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JANUARY   TO   JUNE  1906 



A  Day  in  our  Elk  Forest  .       Sir  Henry  Scton-Karr,  C.M.G.   M  p     ^^o^' 

ILLUSTRATED.  ••»'..  S2 

Arena  Sports  IN  India .      A.  Sidney  Galtrev      nr 


Autumn  Fishing  on  our  Lake         ....         .         .      Edward  F.  Stence 


A  Week  on  a  Sind  J  heel Captain  IV.  B.  Walker 


Betting G.H,  Shitfield    442 

Big-Game  Shooting  at  Lake  Barixgo  .        .        C.V.  A.  Peel,  F.Z.S.,  F.R.G.S.    406 


Big-Game  Hunting  and  Shooting.    See  "A  Day  in  our   Elk    Forest."    -Big. 
Game  Shooting  at  Lake  Baringo." 

Bobbery  Packs Captain  11.  Rowan-Robinson,  R.G. A.  567 

Books  on  Sport loi,  220,  338,  455,  571,  681 

Bridge "Portland"  215 

Climbing.     See  *•  Scouts  and  Outposts." 

Country  Life  in  Canada  on  /200  a  Year  ....             ••  Canadensis  "  331 

Cricket  Problem,  A Home  Gordon  529 

Cricket  Season,  The  Coming Home  Gordon  394 

Cricket.     Su  "  A  Cricket  Problem,"  "The  Coming  Cricket  Season,"  ••  Eton  t;. 

Eating  One's  Cake  and  Having  it        ...        .      George  A.  IVade,  D.A.     559 


Egbrton   House  Stod,  1905,  The Gilbert  H.  Parsons     196 


Eton  v.  Winchester Home  Gordon    636 

Falconry  in  the  Far  East F.J.  Norman     538 


^  Digitized  by  Google 


Falling,  The  Art  of Lilian  E.  Bland    447 


Fiction.  See  "The  Light  of  a  Match,"  "  The  New  Laird's  Baptism,"  "Strange 
Stories  of  Sport":  XL— "  Mr.  Burkington's  Beagles";  XIL— "The  Satyr 
Man";  XIIL— "High  Stakes":  XIV.— "The  Parsons  Bargain";  XV.— 
"  Mr.  Lyncargo's  Professional  "  ;  XVL — "  The  Lantern." 

Fishing.  See  "  Autumn  Fishing  on  our  Lake,"  "  Flies — Facts  and  Fancies," 
"Some  Fishing  Notes,"  "  Tarpon-Fishing  in  Florida,"  "  Salmon-Fishing  on 
the  Forteau,  Labrador." 

Flies — Facts  and  Fancies Clifford  CordUy    554 

Football.     See  "  The  Lesson  from  New  Zealand." 

Gamekeeper's  Profession  as  a  Career,  The         .         .         .  F.  IV.  Millard    156 

Golf.     See  "  Golf  in  Japan." 

Golf  in  Japan II.  E.  Daunt    660 


Holkham  Partridge  Week,  1905,  The    .  .      Major  Arthur  Acland-Hood      14 


Hunting.  5ff  "  Bobbery  Packs,"  "The  Art  of  Falling,"  "Hunting  in  Ireland," 
"  Hunting  in  the  Middle  Ages,"  "  Hunting  in  the  Shires  on  Nothing  a  Year." 
"  Some  Great  Hunts." 

Hu.sTiNG  \s  Ireland Major  Arthur  Hughes-Onslow      22 


"  Hunting  in  London  "  :  A  New  Prize  Competition     ....        460,  577,  687 
Hunting  in  the  Middle  Ages The  Baroness  S.  von  C.    383 


Hunting  in  the  Shires  on  Nothing  a  Year  Lilian  E.  Bland    161 


Lacrosse.     See  "  Modern  Lacrosse." 

Lawn  Tennis.     See  "  Lawn  Tennis:  Its  Importance  and  Science." 

Lawn  Tennis:  Its  Importance  and  Science P.  A.  Vailc    610 


Lesson  from  New  Zealand,  The Alan  R.  Ilaig-Brown      47 

Light  of  a  Match,  The Lawrence  Mott     251 

Modern  Lacrosse C.  E.  Thomas     318 


Mountaineering.  See  "  Over  Rock  and  Ice,  Being  an  Experience  on  the  Matter- 
horn  without  Guides." 

Motoring.  See  "Motoring  in  France,"  "Round  the  World  in  a  Motor  Car," 
"  This  Amazing  India." 

Motoring  in  France II.  B.  Money -Coults     169 


New  Laird's  Baptism,  The Charles  Edivardes      181 

Olympian  Games  of  1906.  The  .  E.  Alexander  Powell,  F.R  G.S.     666 


On  Skates  and  Skating Ed^ar  Wood  Syers      37 


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On  the  Auerhahnbalz  (Capercailzie-Stalking) 

Lt  -Col.  Count  Gleichcn,  C.  M.G.,  D.S.O.,  C.V  0 

ILLUSTRATED.  i        •       .      .  5 

Over  Rock  and  Ice  :  Being  an  Experience  on  the   Matterhorn  without  Guides. 

Maurice  Steinmann,  S.A.C.     64 «; 


Polo.     See  "  Prospects  of  the  Polo  Season." 

Portraits  op  Turf  Celebrities  by  Herring  Lilian  E.  bland    ^o^ 

ILLUSTRATED.  **    ^ 

Prize  Competition 107,  225,  343,  461,  579.  689 

Prospects  of  the  Polo  Season      ....  .      Arthur  W.  Coaten    482 


Racing  and  Steeplechasing.  See  "Betting,  "  "  The  Egerton  House  Stud,  i905,' 
"Portraits  of  Turf  Celebrities  by  Herrmg,"  "Racing  in  the  West  Indies." 
"The  Racing  Season." 

Racing  in  the  West  Indies Captain  W.].  P.  Benson     548 

illustrated.  '* 

Racing  Season,  The Ti,e  Editor    418 


Round  the  World  in  a  Motor  Car     ....      Kate  D'Esterre-Hughes      58 


Salmon- Fishing  on  the  Forteau,  Labrador  Lawrence  Mott    603 

Scouts  and  Outposts Claude  E.  Benson    429 


Shooting.  See  "The  Gamekeepers  Profession  as  a  Career"  "The  Holkham 
Partridge  Week,  1905,"  "On  the  Auerhahnbalz  (Capercailzie-Stalking)." 
"  Wild  Turkeys  in  South  Australia,"  "  A  Week  on  a  Sind  Jheel." 

Skating.    See  '*On  Skates  and  Skating." 

Some  Fishing  Notes Edmund  F.  T.  Bennett    310 

Some  Great  Hunts Major  Arthur  Hughes-Onslow    262 


Sport  in  Rome Horace  IVyndham    628 


Sportsmen  of  Mark: 

III.— Mr.  Spencer  Gollan        ....  Alfred  E.  T.  Watson        i 


IV.— Mr.  Arthur  Coventry    ....  Alfred  E.T.  Watson     119 


V. — Mr.  Gwyn  Saunders-Davies  .        .         .  Alfred  E.T.  Watson    237 


VI.— Captain  Wentworth  Hope-Johnstone  Alfred  E.T.  Watson     355 


VII.— Mr.  W.  F.  Lee,  J.P.         ....  Alfred  E.T.  Watson    473 


VIII.— Mr.  Allan  G.  Steel,  K.C.     .        .  Alfred  E.T.  Watson    591 


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Strange  Stories  of  Sport  : 

XI.— Mr.  BuRKiNGTON's  Beagles     ....              Frank  Savile  68 

XII.— The  Satyr  Man //.  Knight  Horsfield  135 

XIII.— High  Stakes Alma  Scriven  284 

XIV.— The  Parson's  Bargain     .         .        .         .        C.  C.  and  E.  M.  Mott  370 

XV.— Mr.  Lyncargo's  Professional                                        Frank  Savile  497 

XVI.— The  Lantern *- Dalesman"  622 

Tarfon-Fishing  ln  Florida E.  G.  S.  Churchill  510 


This  Amazing  India D.  S.  Skdton,  R.A.M  C.     273 


Tobogganing  in  the  Engadine Mrs.  Aubrev  Le  Blond    146 


Unseen  Forest  Rangers,  The:  A  Tale  of  Burma        .        .        .  A.  Egnar    189 


Wild  Turkeys  in  South  Australia       ....  Collin^-uocd  Ingram     334 


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MOIPAA,     WINNER    OP    THE    GRAND    NATIONAL,     I904 
(Photograph  by  Clartnct  Hailey,  Newmarket) 

The    Badminton    Magazine 


BY    ALFRED    E.    T.    WATSON 

Few  men  who  ever  lived  have  so  thoroughly  deserved  the  title  of 
"all-round  sportsmen  "  as  does  the  subject  of  the  present  memoir. 
Were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  Mr.  Spencer  Gollan  never  greatly 
distinguished  himself  as  a  cricketer  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  in 
what  sport  he  has  not  made  his  mark,  and  had  he  taken  to  this 
best  of  all  games,  as  so  many  people  consider  it,  there  is  good 
reason  to  suppose  that  he  would  have  scored  heavily  in  every 
sense  of  the  term.  He  has  won  prizes  at  running,  high  jumping, 
swimming,  rowing,  sculling,  golf,  lawn-tennis,  boxing,  skating, 
with  gun,  rifle,  and  revolver,  riding  on  the  flat,  over  hurdles  and 
NO.  cxxvi.    VOL.  xxii.— January  1906  A 

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fences — indeed,  whatever  he  has  taken  in  hand  he  has  done  to 
admiration.  His  forbears  were  amongst  the  earliest  settlers  in  New 
Zealand,  where,  near  Napier,  Hawke's  Bay,  Spencer  was  born  in 
i860.  In  the  Colonies  everyone  rides  as  a  matter  of  course.  The 
boy  had  to  go  to  school  on  his  pony,  and  so  acquired  the  rudiments 
of  horsemanship  soon  after  he  had  learned  to  walk — at  which  age 
also  he  learned  to  swim.  His  father  raced  a  little,  with  horses 
of  his  own  breeding,  and  was  an  excellent  shot ;  a  fact  which 
roused  the  emulation  of  the  boy,  who,  when  some  eight  years  of 
age,  was  quite  an  accomplished  marksman.  He  had  acquired, 
indeed,  no  small  reputation  in  this  line,  and  a  visitor  one  day  pro- 


{Photograph  by  Valentine  and  Sons,  Dundee) 

ducing  a  five-shilling-piece,  told  the  lad  that  he  might  have  it  if  he 
could  hit  it  in  three  shots  at  50  yards.  The  youthful  Spencer  says 
that  at  the  time  he  fancied  a  five-shilling-piece  was  **  most  of  the 
money  there  was  in  the  w^orld,"  and,  nerving  himself  for  the  effort, 
he  hit  the  small  target  twice.  The  visitor,  who  was  of  Scotch  extrac- 
tion, somewhat  reluctantly  yielded  up  the  reward;  but  Spencer's 
father,  hearing  the  story,  made  the  boy  surrender  his  well-earned 
prize,  which  Spencer  believes  to  have  been  the  nearest  his  father 
ever  went  to  injustice.  Mr.  GoUan,  senior,  had  imported  an  Arab, 
and  one  of  this  animal's  sons,  Chummy  by  name,  was  the  first  horse 

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A    2 

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Spencer  ever  owned ;  and  he  declares  he  loved  the  little  creature  more 
than  most  bipeds  he  has  met  since.  Fortunately  a  photograph  of 
Chummy  is  preserved  and  here  given.  The  horse  was  full  of  intelli- 
gence, and  when  put  in  training  soon  learnt  all  that  was  to  be 
known  about  racing.  If  a  handkerchief  were  held  up  to  do  duty 
in  elementary  fashion  for  a  starter's  flag  Chummy  would  watch 
it  intently,  and  was  off  like  a  rocket  the  instant  it  began  to  fall. 
Mr.  Gollan  has  owned  innumerable  horses  since,  but  his  first 
favourite  has  never  lost  his  place  in  his  friend's  affections. 

The  races  on  Chummy  were  unimportant  amateur  perform- 
ances, and  the  first  real  race  Mr.  Spencer  Gollan  rode  was  on 
Liberty,  a  mile  and  a  quarter  on  the  flat,  at  Waipukuran.  The 
horse,  it  should  be  explained,  was  the  property  of  and  nominated  by 
a  young  lady.  Just  outside  the  distance  Liberty  seemed  to  be 
holding  his  own,  so  much  so  that  the  most  dangerous  of  his  rivals, 
an  accomplished  horseman,  and  who  oddly  enough  chanced  to  be 
riding  Denbigh,  the  dam  of  Moifaa,  called  out  to  ask  Spencer  how 
he  was  going;  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  doing  so  well  that, 
notwithstanding  his  rival's  skill  and  experience,  Spencer  got  the 
lady's  representative  home  by  a  very  short  head,  much  to  the 
annoyance  of  the  beaten  jockey.  **  I  suppose  you'll  get  it,"  he  said, 
rather  discontentedly,  **for  I  see  that  not  only  is  her  father  in  the 
box,  but  as  far  as  I  can  make  out  most  of  the  family  as  well !  " 
Spencer,  however,  got  the  race  not  by  reason  of  family  influence, 
but  because  he  passed  the  post  first,  and  on  Liberty  he  won  his 
next  two  races. 

One  would  have  supposed  that  anything  in  the  nature  of  nerves 
would  be  the  last  thing  of  which  Mr.  Spencer  Gollan  would  be  con- 
scious ;  but  he  admits  that  he  used  to  be  nervous  sometimes  when 
going  to  the  post  to  ride  on  the  flat.  Somehow  or  other,  however, 
jumping  fences  seemed  to  give  him  confidence,  and  he  declares  that 
of  all  sporting  sensations  which  he  has  enjoyed  there  is  nothing 
which  approaches  riding  a  grand  'chaser  over  a  big  country.  His 
first  mount  in  a  jump  race  was  on  what  he  describes  as  **  a  crazy 
old  horse  "  called  Dhudeen,  and  in  this  event  he  **  finished  within 
*Coo-ee!'"  If  the  expression  does  not  interpret  itself,  it  may  be 
explained  that  the  distance  just  described  is  that  at  which  the 
familiar  Colonial  cry  can  bs  heard ;  but  Dhudeen  and  his  rider 
would  doubtless  have  been  nearer  had  they  not  fallen  in  landing 
over  the  water — the  horse,  however,  not  being  allowed  to  escape. 
**In  the  Colonies,"  Mr.  Gollan  says,  **  trainers  won't  have  their 
horses  loose ;  a  jockey  there  has  to  stick  to  the  reins,"  which  is  all 
very  well  as  far  as  it  goes ;  but  there  are  times  when,  with  the  best 
of  all  possible  intentions,  jockeys  cannot  stick  to  their  reins,  how- 

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ever  much,  theoretically,  they  may  "have  to."  Most  people  when 
they  come  off  a  horse,  by  the  way,  make  their  descent  over  his  left 
shoulder ;  on  the  course  at  Christchurch,  Riccarton,  however, 
when  jockeys  come  down  it  is  always  over  the  horse's  right  shoulder 
at  one  of  the  fences — doubtless  this  arises  from  the  angle  at  which 
the  obstacle  is  placed. 

When  Mr.  Spencer  Gollan  first  set  up  a  large  stable  he  won  a 
number  of  races,  but  after  a  time  things  went  consistently  wrong 


with  him,  SO  much  so  indeed  that  "Gollan's  luck"  became  a  by-word. 
His  best  horses  all  met  with  an  extraordinary  variety  of  accidents. 
In  the  Colonies,  as  in  England,  trials  do  not  always  come  out  right; 
as  a  rule,  of  course,  the  promising  animal  fails,  but  on  rare  occasions 
the  reverse  happens.  Mr.  Gollan  once  had  a  two-year-old  named 
Freda,  of  whom  he  thought  so  little  that  when  she  came  out  to  run  at 
Flemington  against  a  good  field  he  did  not  trouble  to  watch  the  race, 

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and  strolled  off  to  the  luncheon-room  as  the  horses  were  going  to  the 
post.  As  he  was  about  to  begin  his  meal  a  lady  appeared  at  the  door, 
and  hastily  inquired  **  Is  Mr.  Gollan  here? — because  his  horse  is  win- 
ning." The  owner  ran  out  in  time  to  see  the  finish,  and  was  equally 
gratified  and  surprised  when  Freda  won  with  considerable  ease. 
The  race  did  her  good  ;  she  came  on,  and  next  year  was  going  in 
such  form  that  he  began  to  entertain  a  happy  conviction  that  not 
only  the  Oaks  but  the  Derby  also  were  practically  in  his  pocket. 
Just  before  the  first  event,  however,  a  cat,  which  had  found  its  way 
into  Freda's  box,  suddenly  jumped  down  in  front  of  her.  She  started 
in  affright,  and  slipping  up  fractured  her  pelvis;  **  Gollan's  luck'' 
thus  being  again  conspicuous. 

His  most  famous  horse  was  Tirailleur,  a  son  of  Musket  and 
Florence  Macarthy,  who  was  not  only  the  best  animal  that  ever 
carried  the  black,  white  sleeves,  red  cap,  but  over  a  distance  of 
ground  perhaps  the  very  best  horse  ever  known  in  Australia.  Mr. 
Gollan  believes,  at  any  rate,  that  Tirailleur  would  have  beaten 
Carbine  over  three. miles.  As  a  three-year-old  he  started  ten  times 
and  won  all  ten  races,  including  the  Classics — "  Gollan's  luck  " 
completely  swinging  round,  for  the  time,  though  it  turned  again  the 
very  next  year,  for  Tirailleur,  when  running  in  the  Melbourne  Cup, 
which  it  was  thought  he  could  not  possibly  lose,  had  the  misfortune 
to  be  knocked  over,  broke  his  shoulder,  and  had  to  be  killed.  Lord 
Hopetoun,  then  Governor,  with  characteristic  kindness  at  once 
sought  out  Mr.  Gollan  to  condole  with  him  before  congratulating 
the  winner — a  little  fact  which  goes  far  to  explain  how  it  is  that  a 
constant  inquiry  in  the  Colonies  still  is,  "  When  are  we  going  to 
have  another  Hopetoun  ?  " 

Mr.  Spencer  Gollan's  favourite  jockey  was  W.  Clifford,  whom  he 
declares  to  be  the  best  he  ever  saw.  He  began  by  worshipping 
George  Fordham,  but,  while  retaining  the  fullest  admiration  for 
that  wonderful  horseman,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  if  there  were 
anything  to  choose  between  George  Fordham  and  Clifford  the  choice 
was  in  favour  of  the  Colonial,  who  was  equally  good  on  the  flat  and 
over  jumps.  On  the  same  day  Clifford  won  a  flat  race,  carrying 
7 St.  5 lb.,  and  a  steeplechase  with  12  st.  81b.  up;  but  neither  he  nor 
anyone  else  could  make  Tirailleur  do  anything  at  home.  One  day 
a  friend  asked  if  he  might  have  a  gallop  with  the  son  of  Musket 
and  Florence  Macarthy,  and  was  immensely  delighted  to  see  his 
horse  win.  Mr.  Gollan  did  not  share  his  enthusiasm,  and  warned 
him  that  it  meant  nothing ;  but  the  proud  owner  declared  that  he 
had  watched  the  gallop  with  the  utmost  care,  was  perfectly  satisfied 
that  it  must  be  right,  and  intended  to  back  his  horse  accordingly, 
notwithstanding  all  cautions  to  the  contrary.     He  lost  his  money 

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and  it  became  evident  that  Mr.  Gollan  was  right  in  asserting  that 
Tirailleur  had  not  run  up  to  within  many  pounds  of  his  form. 

Clifford    had   every  requisite  a  jockey  can   possess,  including 
honesty  and  silence,  and  he  had  a  quaint  way  with  him  which  often 
left  one  puzzled  as  to  whether  he  was  serious  or  joking.     The  first 
steeplechase  he  ever  rode  was  on  a  horse  called  Katerfelto.     When 
it  was  time  to  saddle  the  owner  sought  him  out  to  tell  him  to  get 
ready,  Clifford  pretending  that  he   had  no  recollection  of  having 
promised  to  ride,  and  declaring  that  he  could  not  think  of  doing 
such  a  thing.     The  owner  presently  lost  his  temper  and   said  he 
should  have  to  take  the  recalcitrant  rider  before  the  stewards;  to 
which  Clifford  replied  that  he  could  not  stand  being  had  up,  and  he 
would  go  to  the  post, 
but   he   did  not  like 
jumping    fences  — 
hated  the  idea  of  it, 
in  fact,  and  felt  cer- 
tain  that   the   horse 
would    know   it   and 
run    out    with    him. 
The  result  was  that 
he   won    easily,    and 
Mr.  Gollan   declares 
that    he    has    never 
seen    a     rider    with 
such   a   thoroughly 
unshakable  seat.     A 

horse  he  was  riding  ^^-  spencer  gollan  as  a  golfer 

one  day  came  charg- 
ing down  at  a  fence  as  if  he  were  going  to  fly  it  with  any  amount 
to  spare,  but  in  the  last  stride  stopped  dead  and  swung  round. 
Clifford's  head  just  bobbed  slightly  forward,  but  his  legs  and  body 
never  moved,  and  if  he  had  had  a  coin  between  his  knees  and  the 
saddle  it  would  have  been  inflexibly  retained.  His  hands  were 
so  perfect  that  the  most  troublesome  animals  went  kindly  with 
him.  Mr.  Gollan  owned  a  particularly  awkward  two-year-old, 
with  whom  the  boys  in  the  stable,  and  jockeys  who  rode  him 
in  his  races,  could  do  nothing,  so  given  was  he  to  bucking  and 
playing  all  kinds  of  unexpected  tricks.  Mr.  Gollan,  having 
asked  Clifford  if  he  minded  riding  it,  went  down  to  the  start  to 
see  the  pair  arrive  and  to  observe  what  happened  afterwards. 
Clifford  carftered  up  with  one  foot  out  of  the  stirrup,  altering 
the  webbing,  and  when  the  owner  asked  how  he  was  getting  on, 
replied,   **  Why,  sir,  he  couldn't  go  kinder;  he's  just  asking  what 

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I  want  him  to  do!     I  can't  make  out  how  the  boys  manage  to 
upset  him.'* 

All  Colonials  regard  England  as  **  home,"  and  home  accordingly 
in  1895  Mr.  Spencer  GoUan  came.  With  him  he  brought  several 
horses,  including  Ebor  and  Norton,  who  were  sent  to  Mr.  Arthur 
Yates's  stable  at  Alresford,  and  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  Mr.  Gollan 
was  on  arriving  at  Sutton  one  day,  whtn  I  found  him  riding  a 
schooling  gallop  on  the  son  of  Ascot  and  Romp  over  the  fences. 
Another  good  one  that  he  imported,  an  animal  indeed  of  quite 
different  class,  was  a  big,  seventeen-hand  horse  called  Culloden, 
who,  it  is  said,  **  could  lose  Merman."  Culloden  was  a  particularly 
nice  horse  to  ride,  and  would  have  comported  himself  admirably  in 
Rotten  Row;  but  he  met  with  an  accident,  and  never  ran  in  this 
country  ;  nor,  I  think,  did  The  Possible  ever  carry  silk.  The  Possible 
was  by  Nordenfeld,  Musket*^  best  son,  and  on  Australian  form  came 
out  about  eleven  pounds  in  front  of  Merman.  With  the  horses 
came  Hickey,  a  jockey  and  trainer  who  did  excellent  service  for  his 
master,  winning  many  races  on  Norton  and  Ebor,  though  occasion- 
ally Mr.  Gollan  himself  performed  on  the  latter,  and  in  1897  was 
successful  in  four  events  over  a  country.  Mr.  Gollan  is  rather 
amused  at  the  generally  accepted  statement  that  Colonial-bred 
horses  are  slow  jumpers.  One  of  those  he  brought  over  with  him, 
Ocean  Blue  by  name,  was,  he  declares,  the  quickest  jumper  he  ever 
saw,  and  an  exceptionally  good  horse  moreover.  Pounamu  was 
another  who  was  naturally  expected  to  do  big  things,  and  would 
probably  have  done  them  had  he  appeared  on  English  racecourses, 
there  having  been  very  little  to  choose  between  him  and  Knight  of 
Rhodes,  at  this  time  a  stable  companion,  for  in  course  of  time 
Mr.  Gollan  left  Alresford  and  took  up  his  residence  at  Lewes,  where 
his  horses  were  trained  by  Escott.  Count  Potocki,  travelling  through 
England  to  purchase  horses  for  the  Russian  Government,  heard  of 
Pounamu,  came  to  see  him,  and  was  delighted.  "I've  journeyed 
through  the  whole  of  the  United  Kingdom  to  find  this  horse!  "  he 
remarked  to  Mr.  Gollan,  and  for  three  thousand  guineas  it  changed 
hands.  Ocean  Blue,  it  may  be  added,  had  a  curious  and  dangerous 
trick  ;  he  used  to  swallow  his  tongue  and  choke  himself,  and  as  a 
horse  cannot  gallop  without  wind,  this  ugly  habit  was  of  course 
fatal  to  his  success  when  he  put  it  in  practice. 

It  is  naturally  with  Moifaa  that  Mr.  Gollan's  name  is  chiefly 
associated,  seeing  that  the  horse  won  the  National  for  him,  and 
passed  i«to  the  possession  of  His  Majesty  the  King,  though  Australian 
Star  is  one  of  several  others  that  should  not  be  forgotten.  Moifaa, 
a  son  of  Natator  and  Denbigh  (against  which  mare,  as  stated  on  a 
former  page,  Mr.  Gollan  won  his  first  flat  race),  was  bought  and  sent 

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to  England  by  Mr.  Gollan's  brother,  and  made  his  first  appearance 
in  this  country  at  Hurst  Park  in  the  January  of  last  year,  finishing 
nowhere  to  Bobsie.     On  his  second  attempt  he  did  a  little  better — 
running  third  at  Sandown  for  the  Mole  Handicap  Steeplechase,  and 
at  the  same  place  some  three  weeks  afterwards  he  finished  fourth  in 
a  field  of  eighteen  for  the  Liverpool  Trial  Chase  won  by  Patlander, 
with  such    useful    horses   as    Drumcree,    Deer-slayer,    May    King, 
Napper  Tandy,  Libert^,  Shaun  Aboo,  and  others  behind  him.     The 
Liverpool  was  his  next  outing,  and  nothing  like  confidence  was  felt — 
Mr.  Gollan  thought  what  he  had  was  **a  good  jumper's  chance,"  and 
it  was  no  doubt  his  capacity  in  this 
direction  that  won  him  the  race, 
for  he  gained  the  best  part  of  two 
lengths  at  every  fence,  and,  nicely 
handled  by  Birch,  as  Turf  history 
records,  won  by  eight  lengths  from 
Kirkland,  who  was  giving  him  three 
pounds.      He  started  at   the   long 
odds  of  25  to  I,  and  a  few  good 
judges  backed  him  for  the  reason 
that  they  had  been  struck  by  the 
style  in  which  he  went  at  the  three 
jumps   that    come    close    together 
on  the    Sandown   Course.      As  to 
Moifaa's    appearance,    his    picture 
heads  this  article,  and  readers  may 
judge  for  themselves;  but  his  capa- 
city   is    undeniable.      **  We    think 

Ireland  has   horses  that  can  lep,"  a  practice  spin 

an  enthusiastic  Irishman  exclaimed 

as  Moifaa  returned  to  the  paddock  after  the  race,  "but  I  never 
saw  one  that  could  lep  like  this  one!"  In  the  big  steeplechase 
at  Manchester  subsequently  Moifaa  did  not  greatly  distinguish 
himself,  and  has  not  won  since  March,  1904. 

When  Mr.  Gollan  was  approached  by  Lord  Marcus  Beresford 
with  an  offer  for  the  horse  nothing  was  said  as  to  the  identity  of  the 
would-be  purchaser.  Lord  Marcus  being  largely  interested  in  the 
purchase  and  sale  of  bloodstock,  it  did  not  strike  Mr.  Gollan  that 
His  Majesty  was  looking  for  something  to  replace  Ambush  II. 
Moifaa,  however,  was  sold  to  the  King,  and  sent  to  Egerton  House, 
where  one  may  be  very  sure  that  Marsh,  an  old  steeplechase  jockey, 
who  long  since  knew  everything  about  the  game  that  could  possibly 
be  learnt,  devoted  his  very  best  attention  to  his  charge.  He  had 
won  Two  Thousands,  Derbies,  and  Legers  for  his  royal  Master,  and 

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to  win  a  National  al?o  would  have  been  a  special  triumph ;  but  the 
big  horse  had  ways  of  his  own  which  his  friends  at  Epsom — Hickey 
and  Page,  together  with  his  owner — perfectly  well  understood,  and 
for  some  unknown  reason  he  did  not  seem  to  get  on  at  Newmarket. 
Before  the  Grand  National  last  year,  the  King's  jockey,  Anthony, 
having  had  a  fall  which  it  had  been  feared  would  incapacitate  him, 
George  Williamson  was  engaged  to  ride,  but  he  had  the  bad  luck  to 
be  severely  kicked  shortly  before  the  race,  and  Dollery  wore  His 
Majesty's  colours.     Moifaa  started   first  favourite  at  4  to  i,  which 

(Photograph  by  Clarence  HaHey,  Neumarket) 

shows  beyond  all  doubt  that  a  great  many  people  put  faith  in  his 
capacity,  though  others,  including  those  who  knew  most  about  him, 
would  not  have  him  at  any  price,  and  argument  ran  high  as  to  whether 
he  was  merely  a  high-blower,  a  whistler,  or  an  unmitigated  roarer. 

For  the  National  of  1905  seven-and-twenty  horses  went  to  the 
post,  and  no  fewer  than  twenty  of  them  fell  or  were  pulled  up, 
Moifaa  being  one  that  fell.  It  was  thought  after  the  Liverpool  race 
that  the  last  had  been  seen  of  him  ;  but  happily  this  was  not  the 
case,  for  he  came  out  in  the  Grand  Sefton  Steeplechase  in  November, 

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and  with  12  st.  5  lb.  on   his  back  finished  sixth  in  a  field  of  sixteen, 

the  useful  five-year-old  Hack  Watch  winning.    Although  Mr.  Gollan 

had  parted   >vith  Moifaa  he  was  not  without  hopes  of  securing  the 

National  for  the  second  time  with  Seahorse  II.,  an  imported  son  of 

Nelson   and    Moonga.     Seahorse  II.  had  10 st.  7  lb.  to  carry,  Moifaa 

II  St.  12  lb.,  and  at  the  weights  Mr.  Gollan  fancied  that  the  chestnut 

would  have  the  best  of  the  brown  ;  but  in  the  National  all  sorts  of 

things  happen.    A  loose  horse  ran  across  Seahorse  as  he  was  coming 

to  a  fence,  interfering  with  him  so  seriously  that  his  chance  was 

completely  destroyed  ;  and   O'Brien,  seeing  that  perseverance  was 


hopeless,  pulled  him  up;  but  Seahorse  lives  to  fight  another  day, 
and  is  likely  yet  to  do  something  to  justify  his  importation. 

To  describe  Mr.  Spencer  Gollan's  successful  achievements  in 
other  branches  of  sport  would  far  exceed  the  limits  at  command, 
but  something  must  be  written  about  the  famous  row  from  Oxford 
to  London.  Some  years  ago,  before  locks  had  been  erected,  and 
when  consequently  the  frequent  delays  on  the  river,  now  inevitable, 
did  not  take  place,  half  a  dozen  enthusiastic  Guardsmen  had  done 
the  journey  in  sixteen  hours,  and  it  occurred  to  Mr.  Gollan  to  see 
whether,  in  spite  of  the  locks,  this  record  could  not  be  reduced  ;  so 
he    pressed    into    service    two    professional    scullers — Towns    and 

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Sullivan,  both  good  men — and  set  to  work  to  try.  Towns  Mr.  GoUan 
tersely  describes  as  **  the  man  to  put  money  on/*  for  one  of  the  few 
things  he  does  not  know  about  sculling  is  when  he  is  beaten.  On 
one  occasion  his  boat  split  in  the  course  of  a  race  and  gradually 
filled  with  water,  Towns  continuing  to  struggle  on  against  the 
almost  impossible  handicap.  After  a  certain  amount  of  practice 
the  trio  started  with  three  pairs  of  sculls,  and  Mr.  Gollan  accom- 
plished what  he  describes  as  the  hardest  day's  work  he  ever  did  in 
his  life.  Sullivan  was  so  far  from  fit  that  he  actually  lost  i6  lb.  on 
the  journey,  but  though  slightly  delirious  fifteen  miles  from  home 
finished  well.  The  three  struggled  on,  and,  including  the  tedious 
waits,  finally  reached  their  destination  in  13  hours  55  min. 

Mr.  Gollan  is  so  much  occupied  with  practical  affairs  that  he 
has  little  time  to  write,  which  is  the  greater  pity  as*  he  possesses  a 
very  happy  knack  of  narrative.  I  cannot  resist  reproducing  here  an 
extract  from  a  letter  he  kindly  wrote  me  some  time  since,  though  I 
have  previously  published  it  in  other  pages.  He  was  telling  me 
about  the  famous  son  of  Musket  who  did  such  great  things  in 
Australia,  and  whose  sons  and  daughters  have  distinguished  them- 
selves in  this  country.  **  Carbine,"  he  writes,  **  whom  I  knew  well, 
was  a  wag.  He  started  racing  life  in  the  training  stable  of  his 
owner,  Dan  O'Brien,  of  Riccarton,  New  Zealand ;  O'Brien  bought 
him  at  the  annual  yearling  sale  at  Sylvia  Park,  near  Auckland. 
Breaking  came  easy  to  the  good-natured  colt,  but  his  laziness  was 
abnormal,  and  he  had  almost  to  be  dragged.  When  his  first  two- 
year-old  race  came,  O'Brien  was  absent  in  the  North,  and  the  head 
lad  had  charge.  The  lad's  telegram  to  the  owner  was  as  follows: 
*  Colt  left  at  the  post.  Won  a  head.'  The  next  day  Carbine  was  given 
another  spin,  the  wire  this  time  reading:  *Colt  left  again.  Won 
easily.'  As  a  three-year-old  Carbine  migrated  to  Australia,  where  he 
won  most  of  the  good  things,  and  incidentally  all  hearts.  To  watch 
him  go  to  the  post  was  worth  a  sovereign  at  least.  *  Old  Jack'  could 
see  no  good  in  a  preliminary  pipe-opener,  so  stuck  up  in  a  passive- 
resister  kind  of  way  and  waited  for  his  trainer  to  arrive  and  threaten 
him  with  the  slock  whip — it  was  only  a  threat,  and  the  horse  knew 
it ;  still,  he  jogged  on  another  hundred  yards  to  repeat  the  scene. 
Sometimes  his  trainer,  Walter  Hickinbotham,  would  chase  him 
with  a  willow  branch ;  in  wet  weather  an  umbrella  suddenly  opened 
provided  the  incentive.  In  any  case  the  old  chap  had  his  fun  and 
got  his  cheer.  But  when  he  turned  to  race,  what  a  change!  Cool 
and  resolute,  fast  and  a  stayer,  six  furlongs  or  three  miles,  good 
going  or  in  the  deep,  no  excuses  had  to  be  made  for  the  champion. 
And  when  the  great  Finis  crowned  the  Opus,  winning  the  Melbourne 
Cup   with   lost,   sib.,  two   miles  in   the  fastest  time  on  record — 

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MR.    SPENCER    GtO^lj^j^  ^ 

how   they   rose  at  him!     Folks  don't  cheer  here,   but    ihe^'    do  in 

To  talk  to  Mr.  Spencer  Gollan,  and    observe  his  placid,  seJf- 
possessed,    courteous   manner,   with    a    quiet    vein   of    humour    at 
intervals   marking  his  utterances,   one  would  not   feel    inclined   to 
suspect  that  he  was  so  essentially  a  man   of  action ;  but    c:>Tie  must 
be  extraordinarily  good  at  any  of  the  numerous  games  he    pJays  in 
order  to  have  anything  distantly  approaching  a  chance  with  him. 
He  would  be  a  very  bad  man  to  fight  and  certain  to  catch  you  if 
you  ran  away.     If  the  Colonies  contain  many  such  sportsmen,  the 
Old  Country  has  reason  to  be  proud  of  its  offspring. 

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The  shooting  season  which  is  now  drawing  to  a  close  has,  generally 
speaking,  proved  the  best  for  partridges  since  the  bumper  years 
of  1885  and  1887,  and  at  Holkham  Lord  Leicester's  friends  enjoyed 
the  best  week  ever  known,  a  short  account  of  which  and  the  methods 
employed  to  obtain  these  good  results  may  be  of  interest  to  the 
readers  of  the  Badminton  Magazine. 

Holkham  has  been  celebrated  for  the  excellence  of  its  shooting 
ever  since  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  but  the  present 
Lord  Leicester,  who  is  a  past  master  of  all  branches  of  the  art,  has 
perhaps  done  more  than  any  of  his  predecessors  to  add  to  its  fame, 
and  we  were  all  very  glad  indeed  to  see  him  well  enough  to  come 
out  and  superintend  the  operations  this  year  from  his  pony-cart. 

With  regard  to  partridges  this  is  an  ideal  estate,  as  the  extent 
is  great,  the  soil  not  too  light,  i.e.  good  barley  land ;  it  is  highly 
farmed ;  the  fences  are  good,  and,  generally  speaking,  fairly  high  ; 
vermin  are  well  kept  under,  and  rabbits  are  not  tolerated ;  a  very 
good  breeding  stock  is  left  on  each  beat ;  there  are  practically  no 
foxes  (as  it  is  not  a  hunting  country). 

A  great  many  owners  and  lessees  of  shootings  have  obtained 
very  big  bags  by  a  good  deal  of  artificial  help,  and  it  is  in  this  that 
Holkham  differs  from  the  majority  of  partridge  estates ;  no  artificial 
aid  has  ever  been  given  either  in  the  way  of  hand-rearing,  Hun- 
garian eggs  or  birds  turned  down,  *'  remises,"  or  even  artificial 
shelters  for  the  guns  to  stand  behind,  specially  planted  crops,  etc. ; 
and  as  the  partridges  are  never  driven  until  November,  and  on  some 

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occasions    later,  they  are  full-grown,  well-feathered,  and  strong  on 
the  wing  ;    in  fact,  it  is  a  genuine  wild  shoot  of  the  best  description. 

The  ground  carries  a  lot  of  hares  and  many  wild  pheasants  ; 
these  would  be  a  nuisance  when  driving,  so  Lord  Coke  goes  over  the 
ground  in  October  accompanied  by  a  large  party  of  the  tenants  for 
the  purpose  of  killing  down  the  hares  before  they  have  done  damage 
to  the  root  crops,  and  also  shooting  every  pheasant  that  is  unwise 
enough  to  breed  outside  the  park  wall. 

This  hare-shooting  has  several  advantages,  as,  independently  of 
the  benefit  to  the  farmers  and  their  enjoyment,  it  shows  what  sort  of 


stock  of  partridges  there  is  on  each  beat,  and  also  exhibits  the 
natural  flight  of  the  coveys  when  disturbed.  On  the  Warham  beat 
this  year  314  hares  were  killed  in  one  day  in  this  way  early  in  October ; 
if  those  hares  had  been  left  till  November,  what  a  lot  of  damage  they 
would  have  done  to  the  tenants'  root  crops,  and  what  a  nuisance 
they  would  have  proved  on  the  big  days'  partridge-driving ! 

Independently  of  the  "  driving  "  ground  proper,  there  are  several 
outside  beats  on  which  **  walking  up  '*  and  **  half-mooning  "  is  prac- 
tised throughout  the  latter  end  of  September  and  October ;  by  this 
means  1,500  brace  were  accounted  for  in  1905. 

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The  driving  beats,  four  in  number,  are  known  as  Warham, 
Quarles  and  Egmere,  Wighton,  and  Branthill  and  Crabbe;  each 
beat  consists  of  about  2,000  acres  of  highly-farmed  land.  Joyce, 
the  head  keeper,  besides  having  a  pheasant  beat  in  the  park,  is 
responsible  for  Branthill  and  Crabbe ;  he  has  under  him  a  vermin- 

Symons  is  a  partridge  keeper  pure  and  simple,  and  he  looks 
after  Warham  and  Wighton,  well  over  4,000  acres  of  land ;  I  saw 
scarcely  any  work  of  rats  or  vermin,  not  a  rabbit,  and  the  efficient 
way  he  supervises  his  great  stretch  of  country  can  be  judged  by  the 
bags  obtained  off  it.  I  may  add  that  he  is  a  bit  of  a  pessimist  by 
nature,  and  will  seldom  allow  that  he  has  any  great  number  of  birds 
on  his  beat,  so  that  this  year  when  he  admitted  that  he  had  **  some  " 
we  expected  to  see  something  out  of  the  common,  and  we  did. 

Quarles  and  Egmere  is  looked  after  by  Baker,  who  also  has 
Waterloo  and  Crabbe.  There  are  four  keepers  with  three  under- 
men  in  the  park ;  two  keepers  entirely  for  partridges  outside  the 

From  the  above  it  will  be  seen  that  the  Holkham  keepers  have 
plenty  to  do,  and  the  fact  that  they  never  change  goes  to  show  that 
they  like  their  work  and  are  comfortable  and  happy. 

As  the  driving  does  not  take  place  till  November  the  country  is 
of  course  bare ;  there  are  hardly  any  roots,  the  birds  are  very  strong, 
and  so  the  drives  must  be  long  in  order  to  bring  in  the  country 
properly.  The  fields  are  large,  averaging  over  thirty  acres ;  the  plan 
generally  adopted  is  to  begin  with  one  or  two  down-wind  drives 
towards  a  general  centre,  and  then  to  work  the  whole  beat  as  much 
as  possible  towards  that  centre  throughout  the  day.  The  drivers 
are  all  employes  of  the  estate  and  thoroughly  know  their  business, 
they  are  good  walkers  and  make  no  noise. 

It  is  too  dark  to  shoot  after  4.30  p.m.  as  a  rule  on  a  November 
day,  so  the  start  is  early,  the  first  shot  being  fired  shortly  after 
9  a.m.  by  the  day  (9.30  Holkham  time,  as  the  clocks  are  kept  half 
an  hour  fast).  By  this  means  about  twenty  long  drives  are  included 
in  the  day.  As  there  are  no  heaths  or  bracken,  and  hardly  any 
roots,  it  is  rare  for  any  one  gun  to  get  a  very  heavy  drive  such  as 
is  obtained  elsewhere  from  heaths  or  remises,  but  the  birds  scatter 
more  and  there  is  plenty  of  shooting  all  along  the  line.  The  birds 
are  much  packed,  and  very  often  these  packs  do  not  get  broken  up 
by  the  last  drive.  But  however  many  birds  may  break  out  and 
escape,  the  ground  is  never  shot  over  a  second  time ;  by  this  means 
a  very  good  **  unpricked  "  stock  is  certain  to  be  left,  and  year  after 
year  good  bags  are  obtained.  So  much  for  the  advo^ntages  of 
leaving  a  good  stock. 

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I    will    now   try  to   give   a    short   account    of    the  hig   dsty  at 
Warham.      It  was  a  beautiful  morning  with  a  light  south  wind,  and 
as  Synnons  had  reported  that  he  had  some  birds,  we  expected  a  more 
than  ordinarily  good  day.     The  party  consisted  of  Prince  Frederick 
Dhuleep  Singh,  Lord  Coke,  Colonel  Coke,  Colonel  Custance,  Major 
C.  Willoughby,   Mr.  W.   Forbes,   Mr.  W.   Barry,    and  the  writer; 
there  was  no  weak  spot  through  which  birds  might  escape. 

At  Holkham  everyone  makes  up  his  own  lunch  and  puts  it  into 
a  little  bag ;  only  bread,  cheese,  beer,  whisky,  and  soda,  etc.,  are 
sent  out,  and  we  always  lunch  in  the  open  under  a  stack  or  hedge ; 
it  is  by  no  means  considered  the  principal  function  of  the  day, 
although  plenty  of  time  is  allowed  for  it. 


A  three-mile  run  in  a  motor  brought  us  to  the  meeting-place, 
we  had  soon  taken  our  places  for  the  first  drive,  down-wind, 
and  the  beaters  were  seen  bringing  in  a  very  big  bit  of  country.  It 
was  interesting  to  watch  a  covey  get  up  far  away,  pick  up  one  or  two 
more  as  it  came  along,  and  then  pitch  in  a  small  piece  of  thin  roots 
some  250  yards  in  front  of  the  guns.  Hardly  had  they  done  so 
when  another  lot  coming  over  the  field  disturbed  those  that  had  just 
pitched,  and  they  and  many  other  coveys,  making  a  noise  like 
thunder,  came  swishing  down  on  the  right-hand  guns,  a  most  nerve- 
trying  ordeal  to  go  through  for  a  start.  A  very  large  pack  broke 
out  to  the  left  of  the  guns  without  coming  within  shot,  then  a  few 
coveys  dashed  over,  and  the  drive  was  finished — not  a  very  prolific 

NO.  cxxvi.  VOL.  xxiL— January   1906  B 

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one,  as  they  came  over  so  packed  and  many  crossed  out  of  shot. 
Still,  they  had  all  gone  in  the  right  direction,  either  into  the  third 
drive,  or  else  away  across  a  narrow  grass  valley  and  to  the  North 
Point,  a  strip  of  arable  land  which  runs  out  into  the  sea,  the  ^i^c^ 
dc  resistance  of  this  beat,  as  any  coveys  that  go  there  are  pretty  well 
bound  to  come  back  to  their  own  home  again. 

Directly  we  had  picked  up  our  birds  from  the  first  drive  we 
moved  on  to  the  second  stand,  almost  at  right  angles;  here  the 
second  lot  of  drivers  brought  in  some  stubbles  and  fallows  over  a 
thick  double   hedge.     One   big   pack   broke  out  to  the  right  and 


i     ^     >»-     i. 

^  I    DrukA  \ 

Roots  \ 


^  •      t'         ♦ 



crossed  on  to  the  North  Point,  another  fine  pack  came  right  over 
the  centre  guns  and  got  well  tapped,  a  few  more  coveys  came  over, 
and  that  drive  was  finished.  We  had  now  got  a  great  body  of  birds 
into  the  driving-ground  proper  of  the  day.  The  third  drive,  down- 
wind and  across  a  road,  with  a  dazzling  sun  straight  in  one's  eyes,  was 
a  very  pretty  one ;  two  very  big  packs  came  over,  and  many  coveys, 
79  birds  being  accounted  for.  It  may  be  as  well  to  say  here  that  at 
the  end  of  each  drive  the  keepers  whose  business  it  is  to  collect 
the  birds  take  them  to  the  game  cart,  where  they  are  counted 
before  being  hung  up;  by  this  means  a  fairly  accurate  account  of  the 

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total  for  each  drive  is  obtained,  a  list  of  which  accompanies  this 

The  next  drive  was  to  be  from  the  North  Point,  and  on  look- 
ing at  it  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that  a  good  result  could  be  obtained 
from  those  bare  stubbles  and  fallows.  There  was  one  root  field 
away  to  the  right,  but  that  was  not  included  in  this  drive ;  all  the 
birds  were  brought  over  from  a  huge  fallow  field.  We  had  hardly  got 
to  our  places  when  the  horn  was  blown,  and  the  first  birds  appeared 
over  a  nice  high  hedge,  with  trees  here  and  there.  At  the  beginning, 
a  few  birds  disturbed  by  the  right  flankers  came  over  the  left-hand 
guns,  then  there  was  a  sound  like  the  surf  breaking  on  the  beach 
after  a  storm  at  sea,  and  an  enormous  pack  dashed  over  the  centre 
guns,   some  of  them   breaking  off  and  swinging  right    down   the 






















SO/     , 








line  and  then  back  over  the  drivers'  heads,  away  to  the  salt  marshes 
on  the  edge  of  the  sea,  to  remain  there  in  safety  for  the  rest  of  the 
day.  Those  who  were  favoured  with  the  attentions  of  the  big  lots 
found  that  turning  round  to  shoot  birds  which  had  passed  was 
even  more  fatal  than  usual,  as  the  very  bright  sun  completely 
blinded  one. 

This  was  a  model  specimen  of  a  partridge  drive  ;  every  gun  had 
plenty  of  shooting,  the  birds  were  much  packed,  and  twisted  and 
turned  in  every  direction  ;  168  was  the  number  picked  up.  Lord 
Leicester  arrived  in  his  pony  carriage  just  as  the  drive  began, 
and  took  the  keenest  interest  in  the  proceedings,  Lady  Leicester 
telling  him  the  results  of  our  efforts.     The  plan  of  operations  now 

B  2 

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was  to  drive  backwards  and  forwards  across  the  strip  of  marsh  land 
running  between  the  North  Point  and  the  rest  of  the  beat,  there 
being  two  separate  drives  off  each  end  of  the  North  Point;  this 
gave  time  for  the  birds  to  collect,  fresh  ground  being  brought  in 
from  the  flanks  now  and  then.  Lunch  came  fairly  early,  at  about 
a  quarter  to  one,  and  by  that  time  rather  over  four  hundred  brace 
had  been  picked  up.  After  lunch  so  many  birds  had  broken  back 
on  to  the  ground  that  we  started  on  in  the  morning  that  it  was 
decided  to  go  back  there  and  bring  them  in  again  ;  this  entailed 
half  an  hour's  quick  walking,  but  the  result  was  worth  it,  as  when 
the  first  drive  of  the  day  was  repeated  there  appeared  to  be  almost 
as  many  birds  as  before ;  these  were  brought  into  the  main  ground, 
and  half  a  dozen  more  drives  to  and  from  the  North  Point  were 
successfully  brought  off.  The  last  drive  of  all  took  place  just  after 
the  sun  had  gone  down  and  the  light  was  beginning  to  fail ;  but  the 
partridges,  still  fresh  and  a  good  deal  packed,  played  the  game 
splendidly  right  up  to  the  finish.  The  rough  total  of  each  drive  was 
as  follows:  47,  46,  79,  168,  88,  102,  74,  132,  41,  112,  71,  136,  42,  27, 
III,  66,  37,  92,  80,  45  =  1,596;  besides  this,  about  forty  dead  and 
wounded  birds  were  either  picked  up  by  the  retrievers  or  found  by 
the  drivers  and  keepers  when  moving  between  the  drives;  and  on  the 
following  day  Symons  and  a  few  men  with  retrievers  searched  the 
hedges  carefully  for  dead  and  wounded,  and  brought  the  total  up 
to  1,671  partridges.  He  reported  a  splendid  stock  still  left  on  the 
ground  to  provide  another  first-rate  day  next  season. 

The  second  day's  beat  was  over  ^uarles  and  Egmere.  There 
were  a  nice  lot  of  birds  on  the  higher  end  of  the  beat,  but  we  could 
not  do  much  with  them  in  the  morning — we  had  twenty-two  drives 
on  this  day,  and  the  total  came  to  515  brace,  the  best  drives  being 
58,  61,  52,  S^,  80,  67,  89,  51,  48,  and  57. 

The  third  day,  on  the  Wighton  beat,  an  enormous  lot  of  birds 
broke  out  to  the  right  of  the  guns  during  the  first  drive,  and  as  they 
went  on  to  the  next  day's  beat  we  saw  no  more  of  them  at  the 
time.  This  pack  consisted  of  about  four  hundred  birds ;  and  they 
must  have  been  joined  by  many  hundreds  more  during  the  day,  as 
they  kept  breaking  over  that  particular  hedge,  and  it  was  hoped  that 
they  would  assist  us  on  the  morrow,  so  were  left  undisturbed.  In 
spite  of  this  we  had  most  excellent  sport,  getting  647  brace,  in- 
cluding the  pick-up.  The  drives,  twenty,  were  as  follows:  34,  95, 
68,  71,  72,  39,  38,  37,  90,  115,  80,  70,  43,  62,  37,  63,  67,  49,  44, 
and  63. 

The  last  day  was  over  Joyce's  beat,  Branthill  and  Crabbe.  On 
this  ground  it  happens  that  there  are  very  few  stubbles  this 
year,  and  there  were  not    so    many  partridges  as    on    the    other 

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THE   HOI^^HAM    partridge    Week 


beats;  however,   we  hoped   to  brin^  in   the    larf^e   packs   that  had 
escaped  us  on  the  previous  day.     These  hopes  were  disappointed,  as 
we  had  the  mortification   to   see   the  whole   pack    get   up  and  go 
straight  back  in  the  beaters'  faces,  and  rising  high  in  the  air  they 
flew  two  miles  down  wind   and  were  lost.     Joyce  and  Lord  Coke 
took    this    very    philosophically,    as    they    said,    **  What   a   grand 
breeding-stock  they  will  make  for  next  season  !  "     Owing  to  this 
disaster  the  bag  was  considerably  lighter  than  it  would  have  been, 
and  we  got    only    the   comparatively    light   one,   for  Holkham,  of 
377  brace ! 

Thus  ended  the  best  week's  partridge-driving  ever  known  in 
this  country.  No  special  effort  was  made  to  obtain  a  record,  but  it 
came  all  the  same ;  and  not  the  least  enjoyable  part  of  it  was  to 
note  the  evident  delight  of  Lord  Leicester  at  the  successful  outcome 
of  his  plans,  which  also  reflect  the  greatest  credit  on  his  keepers, 
drivers,  and  flankers. 

[The   photographs   which   accompany   this   article,    which   have   been    taken    by 

Mr.  Davidson,  a  resident  on  the  estate,  show  a  glimpse  of  another  phase  of  sport  to  be 

enjoyed  here.     The  lake,  which  lies  close  to  the  house,  is  the  winter  headquarters  of 

thousands  of  duck,  teal,  widgeon,  and  rare  sea  birds  of  every  description.     There  is 

also  a  large  flock  of  Canada  geese,  who  fly  about  all  over  the  country,  but  never  mix 

themselves  with  the  genuine  wild  geese  (I^inkfoot  and  Bean  geese),  enormous  flocks  of 

which  inhabit  the  marshes  by  day,  and  feed  on  the  uplands  by  night.     In  hard  weather 

the  wild  ducks  on  the  big  lake  may  be  seen  making  their  way  to  the  Obelisk  and  other 

woods  to  feed  on  the  ilex  acorns,  of  which  they  are  very   fond.     They  afford   most 

exceJJent  flighting  on  these  occasions;    on  one  morning  some  three  or  four  years  ago 

four  guns  brought  in  ninety-five  wild  duck  at  breakfast  time  !     A  real  good  morning.] 


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(Photograph    by    Miss    L.    E.    Bland) 



Even  the  most  unobservant  of  Englishmen  on  going  to  Ireland 
must  be  struck  with  the  great  difference  between  that  country  and 
his  home.  The  longer  he  remains  across  the  Irish  Channel  the 
greater  will  that  difference  appear,  and  this  is  certainly  no  less 
remarkable  in  the  hunting  field  than  in  other  spheres  of  life. 

Probably  the  first  thing  that  the  stranger  will  notice  is  the 
entire  absence  of  gates.  The  ordinary  English  wooden  gate  is 
unknown ;  there  are  a  few  iron  gates  which  are  generally  fastened 
up  with  a  chain  or  rope,  and  are  quite  unopenable  on  horseback ; 
but  the  entrances  to  most  fields  are  blocked  up  with  loosely-built 
stone  walls,  called  "  stone  gaps,*'  or  with  ploughs,  old  donkey  carts, 
logs  of  trees,  or  any  kind  of  rubbish  which  will  keep  in  the  cattle, 
and  can  be  opened  up  with  more  or  less  ease  when  the  stock  have 
to  be  shifted  to  other  pastures. 

Consequently,  to  hunt  in  Ireland,  fences,  and  lots  of  them, 
must  be  jumped.  No  matter  how  slowly  hounds  are  running,  and 
often  when  only  going  to  draw  a  covert,  it  is  a  case  of  jumping 
in  and  out  of  every  field.     This  has  an  undoubted  effect  in  reducing 

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the  numbers  of  those  who  hunt,  for  directly  a  matn  begins  to  lose 
his  nerve  and  dislike  jumping  he  must  give  up  hunting,  as  he  can 
never  leave  the  road,  and  the  roads  in  Ireland  are  shockingly  bad 
riding.  They  are  covered  with  loose  stones  and  have  no  grass 

It  is  not  much  use  for  the  funker  to  wait  till  a  lot  of  people 
have  jumped  the  fence  before  him ;  they  will  not  knock  down  the 
bank  and  ditch  as  they  do  a  thorn  fence  in  England ;  even  if  they 
do  **  soften  "  the  bank  a  little  the  ditch  remains,  and  if  a  bank  is 
at  all  rotten  it  is  made  worse  instead  of  better  by  people  jumping 
over  it.     An  Irish  field  are  well  aware  of  these  facts,  and  few  if  an^^ 

OVER    A    BANK 
(Photograph  by  Miss  L.  E.  Bland) 

go  out  who  do  not  mean  to  have  a  cut  at  every  obstacle  that  comes 
in  their  way. 

Another  result  of  the  absence  of  openable  gates  is  that  hardly 
any  Irishmen  carry  hunting  whips — a  cutting  whip  called  a  **  cut- 
lash"  in  the  south,  or  an  ash-plant  often  rammed  into  the  long 
boot,  being  the  substitute.  When  an  Irishman  says  that  he  *'  with- 
drew "he  does  not  mean  that  he  retired,  but  that  he  pulled  his 
ash-plant  out  of  his  boot.  This  reminds  me  of  an  old  horse-dealing 
yarn  which  I  used  to  hear  told  of  Lord  Spencer  when  he  was  Lord 
Lieutenant : 

"Can  he  jump?"  asked  his  lordship  of  a  farmer  who  wanted 
to  sell  him  a  horse. 

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**  Is  it  lep,  ycr  honner  ?  ''  returned  the  would-be  seller.  **  Me 
son  was  riding  him  with  the  Ward's  last  Saturday  when  he  came 
to  a  fince  that  was  absholutely  onpractacablc.  With  that  he  withdrew, 
and  poshitively  hurried  him  at  it,  and  the  little  harse  cleared  it  by 
the  dirt  of  your  Excellancy's  thumbnail !  " — at  the  same  time  hold- 
ing up  a  grimy  thumb  with  the  deepest  of  black  edges. 

As  hunting-whips  are  so  seldom  carried,  dogs  who  like  to  bark 
at  horses  are  extraordinarily  bold  and  aggressive.  I  scored  pro- 
perly off  one  of  these  soon  after  I  went  to  Limerick.  I  was  jogging 
along  to  the  meet,  and  a  man  on  a  young  horse  was  about  two 
hundred  yards  in  front  of  me.  As  he  passed  a  cottage  out  rushed  a 
mongrel  sheep-dog  straight  at  the  horse's  fore-legs,  barking 
furiously,  and  nearly  frightened  him  over  the  bank.  Then  the 
brute  nipped  back  into  the  cottage  and  waited  to  play  the  same 
game  on  me  ;  but  I  was  ready  for  him,  and  let  him  have  it  with 
all  my  heart,  the  lash  curled  fairly  round  him,  and  with  a  howl  of 
rage  and  pain  he  fled  to  his  den.  He  never  forgot  it,  and  used  to 
growl  surlily  whenever  I  passed  that  way,  but  he  never  rushed  out 
at  me  again. 

The  fences  also  are  very  different  from  those  in  the  great 
majority  of  English  hunting  countries,  and  require  exactly  opposite 
treatment.  In  England  the  general  rule  is  to  go  steady  when  the 
ditch  is  on  the  near  side  of  the  fence,  and  to  put  the  pace  on  when 
it  is  on  the  far  side;  with  a  bank-and-ditch  in  Ireland  it  is  just  the 
reverse.  You  can  safely  go  a  good  pace  when  the  ditch  is  towards 
you,  but  you  must  steady  if  it  is  on  the  landing  side ;  if  you  don't 
it  is  good  odds  that  your  horse  will  not  change  his  feet  properly 
on  the  bank,  and  that  you  will  be  landed  in  the  ditch. 

If  the  fence  be  a  double — that  is  to  say,  has  a  ditch  on  each  side 
— the  bank  is  sure  to  be  broad  enough  to  enable  a  horse  to  change 
properly  when  going  at  a  fair  pace.  The  worst  sort  of  fence  is  a 
high  narrow  bank  with  a  ditch  on  the  far  side. 

Falls  are  certainly  more  numerous  in  Ireland  than  in  England, 
both  on  account  of  the  number  offences  jumped  and  their  trappy 
and  intricate  character;  for  in  Ireland  it  is  quite  as  fatal  to  jump 
too  big  as  not  to  jump  big  enough.  When  a  horse  jumps  a  bank 
without  touching  it  he  is  said  to  **  overall  "  it,  and  if  there  be  any- 
thing of  a  ditch  on  the  far  side  it  is  long  odds  on  his  getting  a  fall. 
On  the  other  hand,  when  a  horse  falls  in  Ireland  he  is  let  down 
fairly  gently,  and  is  not  turned  clean  head  over  heels  as  he  is  by  a 
stout  bit  of  timber  or  strong  binder  in  England. 

The  great  majority  of  Irishmen  undoubtedly  hunt  to  ride,  and 
right  hard  they  do  it.  Their  horsemanship  is  of  a  rough-and-ready 
type,    more   vigorous   than  graceful — due,   I   think,   to  the   almost 

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universal  use  of  the  snaffle  bridle,  which  with  nine  horses  out  often 

renders  the  niceties  of  horsemanship  impossible.     A  south  of  Ireland 

stud-groom  whose  master's  horse  I  was  going  to  ride  once  said  to 

me,  **  Take  a  dangerous  tight  howlt  of  her  head,  Captain,  and  knock 

hell's  blazes  out  of  the  finces  !  "  thus  neatly  describing  the  style  of 

riding   which    he   admired.      There   are  of  course  many  first-class 

horsemen  in  Ireland  to  whom  the  above  remarks  in  no  way  apply. 

The  country  folk,  especially  in  the  south,  are  very  keen  about  the 

sport,  and  little  work  is  done  when  the  hounds  are  about ;    the 

natives  collect  in  crowds  at  a  favourite  covert,  and  their  yells  and 

shouts  when  the  fox  breaks  are  something  to  remember.     It  is  a  bad 

(Photograph  by  Miss  L.  E.  Blarui) 

sign  when  there  are  none  of  them  about  a  covert,  for  it  means  that 
there  is  not  much  chance  of  a  fox. 

Nearly  all  Irish  packs  are  hunted  by  amateurs.  At  the  present 
time  the  Meath,  Kildare,  Kilkenny,  Duhallow,  Tipperary,  Limerick, 
and  Galway,  among  others,  are  hunted  by  their  Masters,  and  it  is 
only  a  year  or  two  ago  that  Mr.  Robert  Watson  gave  up  the  Carlow, 
having  hunted  them  for  over  fifty  years — surely  a  grand  performance. 

Curiously  enough,  most  of  the  hunt  servants  are  Englishmen, 
and  with  the  exception  of  Jim  Brindley  of  the  Ward  Union  Stag- 
hounds  I  have  never  hunted  with  an  Irish  professional  huntsman. 
Champion  and  F.  Goodall,  the  last  two  professionals  in  Kildare,  were 
both  English,  as  was  Gosden  with  the  Duhallow. 

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A  considerable  stir  was  caused  in  the  English  hunting  world  by 
the  introduction  of  "  capping  "  in  some  hunts  two  seasons  ago.  It 
has  been  the  custom  in  Ireland  from  time  immemorial.  The  usual 
*'cap'*  is  2s.  6d.  with  Foxhounds  and  is.  with  Harriers,  and  all  pay 
whether  subscribers  or  not ;  in  Kildare  a  subscriber  can  compound 
his  cap  for  an  extra  ^^5. 

In  the  matter  of  scent  I  think  Ireland  holds  the  advantage. 
There  may  not  be  any  more  brilliant  scenting  days,  when  the 
hounds  seem  tied  to  their  fox,  than  there  are  in  England,  but  I  am 
sure  there  are  far  fewer  really  bad  ones,  in  fact  there  are  very  few 
days  without  a  fair  scent. 

It  is  generally  held  that  a  horse  can  carry  a  stone  more  weight 
in  Ireland  than  he  can  in  England,  and  I  think  this  is  a  fair  esti- 
mate; a  bank  takes  less  effort  to  jump  than  a  fly-fence,  and  the 
going  is  generally  good,  for  it  is  all  grass,  and  there  is  no  ridge  and 
furrow,  consequently  heavy-weights  get  on  very  well ;  in  addition  to 
which  there  is  no  heavy  cart  blood  in  Ireland,  so  the  big  man  is  not 
likely  to  be  riding  a  horse  whose  dam  spent  most  of  her  life  hauling 
coals  or  between  the  shafts  of  a  brewer's  dray.  All  the  farm  work 
is  done  by  light  mares  or  geldings,  and  until  the  ever-to-be-regretted 
introduction  of  the  hackney  a  few  years  ago  by  a  sadly  mistaken 
Congested  District  Board  enthusiast  it  was  difficult  to  buy  any- 
thing but  a  well-bred  one.  The  alleged  pedigree  might  not  be 
strictly  accurate ;  horses  were  not  all  by  Ascetic  and  some  other 
famous  sires  as  usually  alleged,  but  the  hard  fact  remained  that  any 
colt  bred  in  Ireland  was  the  offspring  of  a  thoroughbred  horse  and 
a  mare  full  of  good  blood,  and  I  believe  this  is  still  the  case  with 
the  vast  majority  of  Irish-bred  horses. 

The  observant  stranger  will  notice  that  there  are  scarcely  any 
second  horsemen.  The  Irish  foxhunter  can  seldom  afford  such  a 
luxury,  which  fact  undoubtedly  makes  for  sport,  as  numbers  of 
foxes  are  headed  and  runs  spoilt  by  the  crowds  of  second  horsemen 
that  are  found  in  all  fashionable  English  countries. 

One  of  the  most  notable  features  of  the  Irish  countries  that  I 
know — namely,  Meath,  Kildare,  Kilkenny,  Tipperary,  Limerick,  Du- 
hallow,  and  the  packs  about  Cork — is  the  absence  of  woodlands. 
Nearly  all  the  coverts  are  gorse,  either  artificial  or  growing  wild  on 
hillsides  or  bogs ;  and  I  believe  this  is  also  the  case  in  the  countries 
which  I  do  not  know.  Cub-hunting  is  rendered  very  difficult  by  this 
want  of  woodlands.  Some  of  these  gorses  are  very  big  and  very 
thick,  and  I  have  had  some  weary  waits  while  a  fox  was  skulking 
about  in  their  fastnesses  and  refusing  to  face  the  open.  Many  of 
these  gorses  are  in  the  most  exposed  situations  on  bleak  hillsides 
where  no  shelter  can  be  got;    of  one  **Cryhelp"  in  the   Kildare 

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country  I  have  most  uncomfortable  recollections,  as  it  nearly  a/ways 
blew  a  gale  and  rained  in  torrents  when  we  drew  it. 

I  saw  a  curious  incident  at  "  Maine  "  covert  in  Limerick.  It 
is  a  large  gorse,  and  outside  the  covert  proper  there  is  a  lot  of 
wild  gorse  growing  on  the  hillside.  We  had  been  trying  for  an  hour 
or  more  to  force  a  skulking  fox  to  leave  it,  but  the  most  we  could  do 
was  to  hustle  him  out  of  the  covert  into  the  wild  gorse  and  back 
again.  Presently  I  saw  him  coming  along  the  ditch  just  outside  the 
covert ;  he  caught  sight  of  me  and  clapped  down  where  a  bush  hung 
over  the  ditch  about  ten  yards  from  where  I  was.  At  the  same  time 
a  hound  walked  along  the  ditch  straight  to  meet  him,  and  I  awaited 


events.  When  they  were  about  two  yards  apart  the  fox  showed 
all  his  teeth  and  snarled  viciously.  The  hound  didn't  like  the  look 
of  him  at  all,  but  he  couldn't  turn  and  bolt,  for  he  knew  that  I  was 
looking.  So  he  just  jumped  over  the  fox  as  if  he  had  been  a  log, 
and  marched  on  down  the  ditch  with  his  head  and  stern  up,  pretending 
he  had  never  seen  anything.  He  might  have  been  a  coward,  but 
he  was  no  fool,  and  was  not  going  to  give  himself  away  if  he  could 
help  it.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone  the  fox  nipped  over  the  bank 
into  the  covert  again. 

There  are  not  many  hounds  in  any  pack  who  will  single-handed 
tackle  a  fox  face  to  face.     Most  of  them  much  prefer  to  have  a  grab 

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at  his  brush  when  his  head  and  shoulders  are  the  other  side  of  the 
hole  in  the  fence.  A  terrier  has  twice  the  fight  in  him  that  a  fox- 
hound has,  and  I  think  this  is  due  to  the  fact  that  all  fighting  in 
kennel  has  to  be  stopped  at  once,  so  that  the  foxhound  gets  no 
practice;  whereas  a  terrier  running  about  has  many  a  little  scrap  to 
keep  his  hand  in. 

All  the  countries  I  have  just  mentioned  are  grand  to  ride  over. 
Limerick  is  the  one  I  like  the  best.  The  going  is  good,  the 
country  is  nicely  undulating,  which  I  much  prefer  to  a  dead  flat; 
the  coverts  are  good  and  well  placed,  the  fences  very  varied  but 
well  within  the  powers  of  a  good  horse,  and  the  great  majority 
can  be  jumped  almost  anywhere.  From  many  of  the  best  coverts 
it  does  not  matter  a  bit  which  way  the  fox  goes,  as  there  are  miles 
and  miles  of  lovely  country  in  all  directions.  The  town  of  Limerick 
is  quite  on  the  outside  of  the  hunting  country,  which  lies  to  the 
south  and  west  of  it  with  Groom  as  the  best  centre.  The  majority 
of  the  fences  are  fair-sized  banks  with  a  ditch  on  one  side  or  the 
other  ;  there  are  also  some  stone  walls  and  doubles.  The  banks  are 
sound  and  firm  and  have  little  thorn  or  gorse  growing  on  them,  very 
different  from  some  parts  of  Mealh  and  Kildare,  where  the  great 
bullfinches  growing  on  top  of  the  banks  make  them  quite  unjump- 

In  one  district  of  the  county  about  Askeaton  there  is  nothing 
but  stone  walls,  loosely  built,  and  some  enormously  thick,  up  to 
eight  feet  in  breadth.  The  land  at  one  time  must  have  been  covered 
with  stones,  which  have  been  built  up  into  walls  to  clear  it.  The 
average  height  of  these  walls  is  about  four  feet,  and  the  enclosures 
are  small.  It  is  a  most  difficult  bit  of  country  to  live  with  hounds 
in,  for  it  carries  an  excellent  scent  and  hounds  fairly  race  over  it, 
spurting  at  the  walls  and  jumping  on  and  off  them  without  a 
second's  delay,  whereas  a  horse  must  be  steadied  and  made  to  jump 
them  clean,  or  to  double  on  the  broad  ones.  If  he  be  allowed  to 
gallop  over  them  he  may  not  fall,  but  he  is  certain  to  cut  himself 
badly,  for  they  are  as  sharp  as  razors,  and  the  slightest  touch  means 
a  nasty  gash.  If  the  enclosures  were  bigger  it  would  be  easy  enough, 
but  with  the  small  fields  and  high  walls  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
keep  up  with  hounds  in  a  quick  thing,  and  I  have  repeatedly  seen 
them  run  right  away  from  everybody. 

I  have  enjoyed  very  fine  sport  in  Limerick,  including  some  of 
the  best  gallops  of  my  life.  On  turning  to  my  diary  I  see  under  the 
heading  January  22,  1894,  **  Met  at  Athlacca.  A  disappointing 
morning,  followed  by  the  best  hunt  I  have  ever  seen.  Found  in 
some  wild  gorse  on  Hartigan*s  farm,  close  to  the  Maigue,  and  ran  at 
a  tremendous  pace  to  Lisdouan  and  straight  through  the  covert  and 

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on  to  Garryfine,  where  he  got  to  ground.     Dista^nce  g  mW^s,  time 
45  tnin.,  all  over  splendid  grass  land  and  without  a   ^^ngle  check.'* 

In  the  eleven  years  which  have  passed  since  then  J  fta^g  known 
nothing  better.      Hounds  got  away  on  capital  terms  with  their  fox, 
and  ran  at  a  tremendous  pace  all  through.     We  did  not  come  across 
a  single  fence  which  a  good  horse  could  not  jump,  and  the  ^ofng" 
was  the  very  best.     A  friend  who  got  a  fall  about  half-way  through 
told  me  he  rode  the  last  three  miles  by  seeing  men  standing  beside 
their  pumped-out  horses  in  every  field.      The   gallant    fox  got  to 
ground  in   the  main  earths  in  Garryfine  gorse,  about   150  yards  in 

(Photograph  by  Mr.  J.  P.  Tyrrell) 

front  of  the  leading  hounds.  He  was  none  the  worse,  for  we  found 
him  again  on  February  19,  when  he  again  gave  us  a  very  fine 
run  by  Croom  gorse  to  Ballynahoun  at  top  speed,  then  at  a  steadier 
pace  past  Killiney  to  Kilmacow  cross-roads,  where  hounds  had  to  be 
stopped  as  it  was  quite  dark. 

The  Duhallow  and  Tipperary  countries,  which  lie  south  and  east 
of  the  Limerick,  are  also  splendid  riding  ;  the  former,  however,  is  not 
quite  such  good  going  as  the  other  two,  and  becomes  heavy  in  wet 
weather.     In  Tipperary  some  enormous  banks  are  to  be  found,  some 

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with  ditches  on  one  or  both  sides  and  some  without.  How  and  why 
these  huge  fortifications  have  been  erected  is  a  puzzle  to  me,  and  I 
never  got  much  fun  out  of  jumping  them.  You  have  to  go  at  them 
slowly,  jump  half  way  up,  and  then  reach  the  top  by  a  second  effort. 
Some  horses  will  jump  boldly  from  the  top,  some  will  come  down 
in  two,  and  others,  if  there  is  no  ditch,  will  walk  down  them. 

Fethard  is  the  best  centre  for  Tipperary,  and  you  can  hunt 
seven  days  a  week  there  with  fox  and  hare,  for  there  is  a  Sunday 
pack  which  goes  out  regularly  after  Mass.  These  Sunday  packs 
exist  in  many  places.  The  hounds  are  a  somewhat  scratch  lot, 
composed  of  foxhounds,  harriers  (including  the  old  Irish  black-and- 
tan  hound),  beagles,  and  terriers  of  all  sorts,  but  they  afford  their 
followers  a  deal  of  '*  divarshun."  When  the  troubles  were  bad  in 
Limerick  about  twenty  years  ago,  and  the  county  hounds  were 
stopped,  a  local  car  driver,  a  great  character,  hunted  the  country 
with  a  pack  of  this  description.  He  used  to  keep  them  in  a  stable 
by  day  and  turn  them  out  into  the  streets  to  pick  up  their  living  at 

The  United,  the  South  Union,  and  the  Muskerry  hunt  the 
country  round  Cork.  It  is  a  hilly  district,  and  most  of  the  banks 
are  stone-faced,  and  without  ditches.  On  account  of  the  great 
amount  of  wild  gorse  growing  on  the  hillsides  it  is  often  difficult  to 
find  a  fox,  for  they  are  not  over- plentiful,  and  there  are  so  many 
places  where  they  may  be  lying.  Hounds  get  very  tired  of  drawing 
acre  after  acre  of  this  impenetrable  covert. 

For  many  years  the  cavalry  regiment  quartered  at  Ballincollig 
used  to  hunt  the  Muskerry  Hounds.  When  my  regiment,  the 
loth  Hussars,  was  there,  Lord  William  Bentinck  was  Master  and 
huntsman,  and  first  rate  in  both  capacities.  We  had  some  capital 
hunts,  but  were  somewhat  short  of  foxes,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for 
one  old  customer  who  never  failed  us,  I  do  not  know  what  we  should 
have  done  in  the  Monday  country.  It  would  have  been  a  fearful 
calamity  if  we  had  caught  him  !  I  hear  people  grumbling  some- 
times and  saying  we  have  too  many  foxes  in  Leicestershire.  I  wish 
they  had  had  some  of  the  long  draws  and  blank  days  I  have  had  to 
put  up  with  ;  and  it  is  by  no  means  my  experience  that  foxes  run 
any  better  where  they  are  scarce  than  where  they  are  plentiful. 
Kildare  is  a  rather  curious  country,  for  one  end  is  utterly  different 
from  the  other.  The  north  end  is  a  flat  galloping  bank-and-ditch 
country,  while  the  south  is  cramped  and  hilly,  with  high  dry  banks ; 
a  range  of  mountains  runs  all  along  the  east  boundary,  and  the  Bog 
of  Allen  lies  to  the  west.  A  fox  found  towards  the  east  is  very  apt 
to  run  up  the  mountains,  and  hounds  have  frequently  had  great 
hunts  all  to  themselves  among  the  grouse,  the  heather,  and  the 

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rocks.     There  are  several  big  bogs  in  the  country,  but  Iiic^kily  £ 
do  not  like  crossing  them,  and  seldom  do  so;   worse  obstacle     ^^^ 
the  domain  walls,  of  which  there  are  a  great  number.      JVf  ost  o^^     ^^^ 
men's  places  in  Ireland  are  surrounded  by  a  wall  about     iroft^  K- 
The  fox  has  several  places  where  he  can  get  over,  ofien    h>y  the    K 
of  the  ivy  which  grows  freely  on  them,  but  the  hounds  cax^riot  fbJj 
him,  and  much  time  is  lost  in  taking  them  round  by    the  riQ      ^^ 
gate.    These  walls  spoil  many  a  run  and  save  many    a.   fox's  iv^^ 
At  Jenkinstown,  in  Kilkenny,  the  foxes  often  used  to  lie  on   ti^^  - '  ^* 
covered  wall,  which  is  broad  as  well  as  high.  ^' 

I  had  two  excellent  seasons  in  Kildare.    Colonel  R.     Sf    r 

queen's   county   and   CASTLBCOMER   hounds — CALLING    HOUNDS  OUT   OF   COVERT 
(Photograph  by  Mr.  J.  P.  Tyrrell) 

Moore  was  Master,  and  Goodall  huntsman,  the  best  of  the  sport 
being  in  the  north  end,  from  Cooltrim,  Laragh,  and  Betoghstown, 
and  in  the  district  round  Punchestown  and  Edestown,  all  of  which 
is  a  capital  country  to  ride  over,  but  requires  a  really  good  hunter. 
I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  if  a  horse  can  go  well  in  Kildare, 
he  will  not  be  found  wanting  in  any  country,  English  or  Irish. 

A  great  friend  sends  me  the  following  note :  "  The  Laragh  run, 
November  26, 1859. — This  is  popularly  accepted  as  the  record  run  of 
the  Kildare  Hounds,  as  well  it  might  be,  considering  the  country  run 
over  (probably  unsurpassed  in  the  three  kingdoms),  thQ  distance,  the 

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straightness,  and  the  finish.  The  Master,  Lord  Naas,  had  a  sprained 
thigh,  and  was  driving  in  a  gig;  he  drew  the  covert  with  only  a 
couple  or  two  of  hounds,  in  order  to  avoid  the  chance  of  chopping 
some  turned-down  cubs.  A  fox  went  away  at  once  and  crossed  the 
canal  into  the  Meath  country,  from  which  it  is  probable  he  had  been 
hunted  the  day  before.  The  field  picked  up  hounds  at  Colinstown, 
a  Meath  covert;  two  foxes  went  away,  but  Stephen  Goodall,  the 
huntsman,  refused  to  hunt  them.  Shortly  afterwards  the  hunted 
fox  broke,  and  the  best  part  of  the  run  began.  He  went  by  Kilcarty 
covert  to  Grange,  by  which  time  most  of  the  field  were  settled,  and 
from  there  to  a  small  spinney  at  Swainstown,  where  they  killed  him 
— 18  miles  in  i  hr.  40  min.  over  a  perfect  line  of  country.*' 

But  we  need  not  go  to  such  ancient  history  for  records  of  good 
runs.  At  the  opening  meet  on  November  6,  1883,  hounds  found 
in  Kerdiffstown  and  killed  their  fox  in  the  outskirts  of  Dublin,  more 
than  a  twelve-mile  point  without  touching  a  single  covert ;  while 
in  October  1899,  Colonel  de  Robeck  being  Master,  and  Fred 
Champion  huntsman,  they  found  in  a  bit  of  wild  bog  just  outside 
Narraghmore  Wood,  and  killed  him  under  the  walls  of  Newbridge 
Barracks,  a  point  of  ten  miles. 

As  an  instance  of  what  hounds  will  do  entirely  on  their  own, 
I  give  an  account  of  a  run  in  Colonel  R.  St.  Leger  Moore's  time : 
*'  January  23, 1890. — Found  in  Copelands  and  crossed  the  Carrigower 
brook,  then  over  the  left  shoulder  of  Church  Mountain,  where  the 
ground  became  quite  impassable  for  horses,  being  very  rough  and 
thickly  covered  with  snow.  Hounds  ran  on  by  themselves,  and 
eventually  killed  their  fox  at  Humewood  Cottages,  a  nine-mile  point, 
but  Heaven  knows  how  far  the  hounds  ran  over  the  snow-clad 
mountains.  Time  from  start  to  finish  three-and-half  hours,  for  two 
hours  of  which  no  one  was  near  them.  Goodall  got  up  soon  after 
they  had  killed  and  saved  the  mask." 

Meath  is  a  fine  country,  renowned  for  the  tremendous  breadth 
and  depth  of  its  ditches,  especially  on  the  Dublin  side.  Many  of 
them  are  eight  feet  deep  and  V-shaped,  so  that  if  a  horse  gets  in  he 
takes  a  lot  of  getting  out,  the  services  of  the  "  wreckers  "  with  their 
ropes  and  spades,  and  the  expenditure  of  a  sovereign,  being  generally 

There  is  a  grand  stretch  of  country  round  Fairyhouse,  and  I 
have  had  many  a  good  gallop  over  it  with  the  Ward  Union  Stag- 
hounds.  They  try  to  make  the  sport  as  natural  as  possible,  and  the 
deer  is  not  uncarted  in  full  view  of  the  field,  as  is  the  custom  in 
England.  He  is  turned  out  a  mile  or  more  from  the  place  of  meet- 
ing, quite  quietly,  and  without  being  yelled  and  ridden  at  by  excited 
and  ignorant  crowds  of  foot   and    horse.      The    hounds   are    then 

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trotted  up  and  laid  on  as  they  are  to  the  wild  stag  after  the  tufters 
have  been  stopped. 

I  remember  one  very  pretty  hunt.  It  was  late  in  March,  and 
the  weather  was  hot  and  dry.  When  hounds  were  laid  on  the  scent 
was  very  bad,  and  they  could  only  pick  out  the  line  quite  slowly  for 
a  mile  or  two.  The  stag  had,  however,  waited  for  us  in  the  cool 
waters  of  a  little  pond  under  some  willows.  When  hounds  got  close 
to  him  he  jumped  up,  gave  himself  a  shake,  and  away  he  went  with 
hounds  hard  at  his  heels.  He  gave  us  a  grand  gallop  of  some  six 
miles  over  a  lovely  country  till  he  found  refuge  in  another  pond, 
where  he  was  safely  taken. 

Kilkenny  I  don't  know  well,  but  it  seems  to  me  to  be  a  grand 

(Photograph  by  Miss  L.  E.  Bland) 

galloping  country ;  the  fences,  perhaps,  are  not  so  formidable  as  in 
some  of  the  other  countries  which  I  have  mentioned,  but  as  it  is 
hilly  and  carries  a  good  scent,  a  fast  horse  and  a  stout  one  are 
most  necessary. 

An  old  friend  and  a  good  judge  sends  me  his  opinion  of  Kilkenny 
as  follows : — 

1.  Wonderfully  good  scenting  country,  and  nearly  all  grass. 

2.  Every  conceivable  variety  of  Irish  fence. 

3.  Ample  scope  for  six  days  a  week.     (It  has  been  hunted  nine.) 

4.  Very  getoverable,  and  practically  no  wire. 

NO.  cxxvi.    VOL.  jxii.— January  1906  C 

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He  winds  up  by  saying  that  it  is  the  finest  country  on  earth. 
He  also  sends  me  the  following  reply  by  a  horse-coping  farmer  to  an 
inquiry  as  to  whether  he  had  a  good  horse  for  sale  : — **  No,  Meejor, 
I've  no  very  good  horse  by  me  now,  but  I  had  the  right  one  last  year  ; 
but,  Meejor,  he  was  that  lazy  that  you'd  no  sooner  got  over  one 
lep  than  you  had  to  get  out  the  ashplant  to  prepare  him  for  the  next. 
He  took  a  deal  of  nourishment." 

Such  is  a  very  imperfect  sketch  of  some  of  the  best  hunting 
countries  of  Ireland,  and  there  are  others  very  good — Galway,  Ros- 
common, etc.,  in  which  I  have  never  hunted,  besides  large  tracts 
which  are  at  present  not  hunted  for  want  of  a  little  money  to  make 
coverts,  etc.  It  seems  to  me  that  this  great  national  asset  is  not 
put  to  the  use  it  might  be.  England  is  growing  more  crowded  every 
year,  towns,  mines,  railways,  etc.,  are  ever  on  the  increase,  and  in 
the  South  of  England  the  shooting  interest  is  making  itself  very 
seriously  felt.  In  Ireland  there  is  room  for  all  and  to  spare,  and 
much  English  gold  would  be  brought  into  the  country  through  the 
development  of  fox-hunting.  Ireland  is  essentially  the  country  for 
a  man  of  moderate  means,  for  a  fiver  goes  a  good  deal  further  there 
than  it  does  in  England. 

The  one  "  crab  "  to  the  country  is  the  political  situation  and  the 
trouble  caused  thereby.  Hunting  was  never  stopped  in  Ireland  be- 
cause the  people  disliked  it ;  on  the  contrary,  they  love  it  and  all  to 
do  with  it.  But  with  a  view  to  putting  the  screw  on  the  landlords, 
agents,  etc.,  the  wirepullers  have  often  forced  the  country  folk  to  stop 
the  hounds.  There  are  lots  of  nice  places  in  some  of  the  best  hunting 
districts  in  the  South  and  West  which  could  be  had  for  next  to 
nothing,  but  what  Englishman  will  take  them  so  long  as  there  is 
any  fear  of  hunting  being  stopped  ? 

There  has  been  very  little  interference  during  the  last  ten  or 
twelve  years,  but  rumours  and  alarms  have  been  by  no  means  un- 
common, and  they  are  quite  sufficient  to  scare  away  an  intending 
visitor.  That  the  majority  of  the  people,  even  in  the  South,  want 
Home  Rule  I  do  not  believe.  I  was  quartered  in  Limerick,  con- 
sidered a  hot-bed  of  Nationalism,  when  Mr.  Gladstone's  Home  Rule 
Bill  passed  the  House  of  Commons.  No  sort  of  enthusiastic  delight 
was  manifested;  and  when  the  Lords  threw  it  out,  relief  and  satisfac- 
faction  were  plainly  the  feeling  of  the  great  majority  of  the  people. 
Personally  I  look  back  upon  the  six  years  which  I  spent  in  Ireland  as 
among  the  happiest  of  my  life,  and  I  have  the  kindliest  recollections 
of  her  and  her  people.  I  went  about  a  great  deal  soldiering,  hunting, 
and  racing,  and  everywhere  met  with  nothing  but  kindness  and 
courtesy;  while  the  fun  I  had,  the  good  stories  I  heard,  and  the 
friends  I  made,  have  been  an  enduring  joy. 

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To  the  humours  of  Irish  hunting  there  is  no  Gtid,  and  the  fun  in 
the  field  is  inexhaustible.     I  can  only  say  that  those  most  admirable 
sketches  **  The  Recollections  of  an  Irish  R.M.,"  which  first  appeared 
in  these  pages,  are  in  no  way  overdrawn.     With  the  remembrance  of 
them  in  my  mind,  and  the  certainty  that  my  readers  know  them  and 
love  them,  I  hardly  dare  to  attempt  anything  in  the  comic  line.    One 
or  two    stories;   however,   I  cannot  resist.     I    had    gone    with    the 
Limerick  Hounds  to  a  district  which  lay  a  few  miles  outside  of  the 
country  usually  hunted.     We  had  been  told  that  we  were  certain  to 
find,  but  we  had  had  a  long  blank  draw  when  we  came  to  a  wood  on 


the  slope  of  a  steep  hill-side.  I  saw  a  big  crowd  of  country  lads  on 
the  hill  about  the  covert,  and  I  thought  to  myself  **  We  shall  find 
here."  Hounds  had  not  been  long  in  covert  when  a  terrific  yelling 
broke  out  from  the  crowd,  and  frantic  wavings  in  the  direction  of  the 
valley.  Hounds  were  galloped  up  to  the  spot  indicated,  and  about 
three  fields  off  I  saw  a  sheep  dog  going  like  the  wind.  Of  course  we 
thought  he  was  chasing  the  fox,  so  hounds  were  laid  on  and  away 
we  went  over  half  a  dozen  good-sized  banks.  Although  hounds  ran 
fast,  they  did  not  settle  properly  to  the  line,  and  instead  of  carrying 
a  good  head  they  strung  out  much  as  draghounds  do.  We  ran  in 
this  fashion  for  a  mile  or  so  right  into  the  yard  of  a  little  farmhouse. 

c  % 

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Then  we  found  out  the  trick  that  had  been  played  on  us.  The 
country-folk  were  determined  to  see  a  hunt  of  some  sort,  and  to 
guard  against  a  blank  day,  so  they  had  stolen  a  dog  from  this  little 
farm  and  had  managed  somehow  or  other  to  get  hold  of  some  fox 
litter  and  smear  him  with  it.  Then  they  carried  him  in  a  bag  to  a 
convenient  spot,  and  at  the  right  moment  shook  him  out  and  started 
him  for  home,  aided  by  a  smack  from  a  whip,  and  yells  which  rent 
the  air.     They  had  their  bit  of  fun  and  we  trotted  off  to  our  nearest 


proper  covert  and  were  lucky  enough  to  redeem  the  day  by  a  good 

The  following  was  told  to  a  friend  of  mine  by  the  very  popular 
Viceroy  to  whom  it  occurred.  A  sporting  farmer  had  actually 
jumped  on  "  His  Ex."  no  fewer  than  three  times.  When  the  latter 
soon  after  landed  very  nearly  on  top  of  the  farmer,  he  was  profuse 
in  his  apologies,  but  all  the  farmer  said  was,  **  No  matter,  your 
Excellency,  you  owe  me  two  yet." 

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BY     EDGAR     WOOD     SYERS 

"  A  third  young  lady  said  it  was  elegant,  and  a  fourth  expressed  her  opinion 
it  was  swan-like.'' — Pickwick, 

Few  devotees  of  skating  are  aware  of  the  profuse  and  compendious 
literature  treating  of  their  favourite  pastime. 

Since  the  days  of  Olaus  Magnus  and  Fitz-Stephen  skating  has 
never  lacked  historians.  Goethe  and  Klopstock  have  extolled  the  art 
in  poetry  and  prose  in  Germany;  Garcin  and  Vail  in  France;  in 
England,  Evelyn  and  Pepys,  ever  curious  for  any  novelty ;  Johnson, 
though  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  didactic  doctor  adventured 
his  ponderous  person  on  "  skaits,''  and  Wordsworth,  with  a  host  of 
minor  writers,  have  described  its  pleasures. 

Figure-skating  as  distinct  from  speed-skating  is  of  comparatively 
modern  growth.  The  earliest  book  on  figure-skating  which  I  have 
been  able  to  trace  was  written  by  one  Robert  Jones,  a  lieutenant  of 
artillery,  and  published  in  London,  1772.  This  gentleman  was 
evidently  no  pioneer  in  the  art,  for  he  describes  a  number  of  figures 

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which,  having  regard  to  the  few  facilities  for  practice  in  this  country, 
it  is  hardly  possible  he  could  have  evolved  unaided.  Lieutenant 
Jones  was  acquainted  with  the  following  figures,  to  which  he  alludes 
in  detail  :  the  FO,  BO,  and  FI  edges,  the  FO  spiral,  and  the 
FO  3,  on  which  he  bestows  the  poetical  designation  of  **  a  figure 
of  a  heart  on  one  leg,''  remarking  that  it  was  **  a  pleasing  figure  and 
but  lately  known  " ;  the  FO  8  was  apparently  also  known  to  him. 
Plates  depicting  skaters  in  various  flamboyant  attitudes  are  a 
feature  of  Lieutenant  Jones's  work.  It  would  appear  that,  when  once 
firmly  established,  skating  rapidly  grew  in  popular  favour,  for  a 
number  of  books  on  the  subject  subsequently  appeared,  and  a  club. 


which  exists  with  unimpaired  vitality,  was  founded  in  Edinburgh 
about  1780. 

The  next  work  of  distinction  to  appear  was  **  Le  Vrai  Patineur," 
by  J.  Garcin,  published  in  Paris  in  1813,  several  copies  of  which  are 
to  be  found  in  this  country.  This  carried  the  practice  yet  further, 
and  enumerated  the  following  additions  :  the  BO  8,  the  serpentine, 
the  spread  eagle,  FI  reverse  Q,  and  the  multiple  turns,  etc. 

We  now  come  to  the  time  of  Clias,  Walker,  Clay,  and  Cycles 
(George  Anderson),  who  describes  the  FO  Q,  FO  reverse  Q,  the 
two-foot  8,  and  the  FO  loop.  After  the  foregoing  period  and  from 
about  i860  a  remarkable  change  is  apparent  in  the  style  of  skating  as 

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ON    SKATES    AND     SKatiNG  39 

practised  in  this  country.  The  older  writers  up  to  and  including 
Cycles,  though  advocating  a  certain  necessary  restraint,  indicated 
very  clearly  that  the  limbs  should  have  free  play  and  should  assist 
the  movement.  Walker  states  that  the  position  of  the  arms  should 
be  easy  and  varied,  one  being  always  more  raised  than  the  other. 
Harewood  advocates  the  attitude  of  drawing  the  bow,  etc.,  Cyclos 
that  the  arm  should  be  bent  and  half  raised,  the  knee  bent  and 
turned  well  outwards,  the  toe  pointing  to  the  ice. 

From  such  directions  we  turn  with  surprise  to  the  canons 
of  form  laid  down  only  a  few  years  later  by  Vandeervell  and  Witham, 
where  we  see  tentatively  set  forth  those  rules  which  a   few  years 

GUSTAVE    HUGEL,    WORLD'S    CHAMPION    1897,    1899,    AND    IQOO 

later  were   carried  to  the   extreme  of  rigidity  as  set  forth  in   the 
following : — 

"  The  elbows  kept  to  the  side  of  the  body  ;  the  employed  foot 
should  not  ever  be  allowed  to  swing." — **  Skating,'*  by  Douglas 
Adams,  1894. 

"Employed  leg  must  be  kept  absolutely  straight ;  no  bend  at 
the  knee  is  allowed;  elbows  turned  in." — **  Combined  Figure  Skat- 
ing," by  G.  Wood,  1899. 

Such  a  momentous  change  in  the  character  of  English  figure- 
skating  had  for  some  years  a  very  cramping  effect  on  the  develop- 
ment of  the  art.  Immense  curves  and  turns  effected  solely  by  body 
twist  were  considered  its  highest  expression,  and  such  movements  as 
loops,   cross-cuts,  and  the   many  wonderful  combinations  of  them 

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were  quite  taboo.  Some  writers,  indeed,  admitted  an  occasional 
indulgence,  but  the  learner  was  strictly  enjoined  to  straighten  him- 
self at  intervals,  as  such  diversions  could  not  be  executed  without 
"  bending  the  body  and  knee  and  craning  the  head  in  advance."  All 
figures,  save  gigantic  curves  and  turns  which  appeared  as  a  mere 
incident  therein,  were  regarded  as  outside  the  pale  and  designated 
"  kickers  " ;  and  truly,  as  usually  demonstrated,  they  fully  merited 
the  appellation. 

The  fact  that   none  of  the  chief  skaters  of  Austria,   Sweden, 
Norway,  and  Germany  had  been  seen  here  accounts  for  these  restric- 

ULRICH    SALCHOW,    WORLD'S   CHAMPION    I90I,    I902,    I903,    I904,    AND    I905 

tions ;  had  they,  or  Jackson  Haynes,  the  celebrated  American  pro- 
fessional who  delighted  the  whole  of  skating  Europe  in  the  sixties  by 
his  grace  and  skill,  visited  us,  we  should  probably  have  been  spared 
an  infliction  of  rigidity  from  the  effects  of  which  we  are  not  yet 
entirely  free.  It  was  not  till  the  holding  in  London  of  the  World's 
Championship  in  1898,  when  the  three  greatest  skaters  of  the 
Continent  visited  us,  that  the  possibilities  of  the  art  were  fully 
appreciated  and  studied  here.  The  grace  and  apparent  ease  with 
which  such  figures  as  loop  change  loop,  and  bracket  change  bracket. 

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both  forward  and  back,  could  be  skated  was  a  revelation  to  us,  and 
from  that  occasion  may  be  dated  the  renaissance  of  English  skating. 
All  inteniational  figure-skating  championships  and  competitions 
consist  of  two  sections:  "A,"  a  set  of  six  or  seven  compulsory 
figures — *'  Pflichtiibungen  "  ;  and  '*  B,"  a  free  programme — '*  Kur- 
laufen,"  of  five  minutes'  duration,  in  which  the  competitor  introduces 
such  tours  de  force  and  original  combinations  as  he  thinks  will  find 
favour  in  the  eyes  of  the  judges. 

The  tendency  of  late  in  free  skating  seems  toward  the  elimina- 


tion  of  figures  of  extreme  difficulty,  and  the  substitution  of  easy 
graceful  movements.  There  is  much  to  be  said  in  favour  of  this 
innovation,  alike  as  it  concerns  candidates,  judges,  and  spectators. 
Should  the  candidate  fail  in  the  execution  of  a  difficult  figure  he  will 
be  not  only  minus  so  many  marks  in  respect  of  it,  but  the  continuity 
of  the  representation  will  be  lost,  and  an  inharmonious  impression 
created.  On  the  other  hand,  judges  may  find  it  difficult  justly  to 
apprise  the  true  value  of  an  intricate  figure,  seen  possibly  for  the 
first  time. 

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From  the  spectators'  point  of  view  complicated  star  figures,  for 
which  the  skater  has  to  arrest  his  progress  on  each  occasion,  and 
which  necessitate  a  circumscribed  field  of  action,  are  far  less  attrac- 
tive than  the  lightness  and  movement  typical  of  the  Vienna  school, 
which  has  been  so  aptly  described  as  **  being  like  dancing  on  ice." 

Of  athletic  sports  skating  alone  possesses  the  attribute  of  a 
patron  saint.  This  distinction  is  conferred  by  St.  Liedwi,  whose 
sufferings  and  virtues  deserve  a  wider  recognition.  As  briefly  told, 
her  history  is  this : 

**  St.  Liedwi  was  born  at  Schiedam  in  1380.  Persuaded  by  her 
girl  friends  to  skate  for  her  health's  sake,  against  her  own  inclina- 
tions, she  was  knocked  down  accidentally  on  rough  ice  in  1396,  a  rib 

THE    ACCIDENT    TO    ST.    LIEDWI,    THE    PATRON    SAINT    OF    SKATERS,    IN    I396 

being  broken  inwards.  For  the  rest  of  her  life  she  was  confined  to 
her  bed,  a  prey  to  unspeakable  diseases.  During  her  lifetime,  of 
extreme  piety  and  devotion,  visions  and  marvels  surrounded  her, 
replaced  by  miracles  after  her  death  in  1433. 

**  In  i6t6  she  was  beatified,  and  sanctified  in  1890.  Some  relics 
of  her  are  preserved  in  the  Carmelite  monastery  in  Brussels." — 
From  **  On  the  Outside  Edge,"  by  G.  Herbert  Fowler. 

Owing,  perhaps,  to  ignorance  of  the  foregoing  relations,  we 
have  never  heard  of  devotees  on  the  eve  of  some  important  competi- 
tion invoking  the  saint's  aid  or  dedicating  wax  tapers  to  her  shrine. 

We  do  not  propose  to  attempt  here  that  pleasant  task — the 
teaching  of  the  young  idea.    It  is  doubtful  if  a  true  impression  of  the 

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ever-varying  pKDsitions  incidental  to  figure-skating  can  be  conveyed 
to  the  novice  in  print ;  **  the  eftest  way  "  is  to  consult  some  acknow- 
ledged authority  as  to  the  essentials  of  the  rudiments,  and  from 
practical  demonstration  apprehend  the  first  steps.  When  initial 
difficulties  have  been  overcome,  as  an  excellent  source  of  informa- 
tion and  the  most  up-to-date  may  be  commended  the  "  Skating 
Handbook  and  Supplement  *'  of  Doctor  G.  Browne,  M.A.,  of  Boston, 
published  by  Barney  and  Berry,  New  York;  in  it  will  be  found  the 
essence  of  skating  instruction. 

From  skating  to  skates  is  a  natural  transition,  and  a  brief 
account  of  their  evolution,  with  some  typical  examples,  may  be  ol 


No.  I  represents  a  bone  skate  du;^:  up  in  Moorfields,  which 
remarkable  mine  of  antiquities  it  would  appear  the  bygone  inhabi- 
tants of  London  regarded- as  a  species  of  museum  or  convenient 
repository  for  the  storage  of  objects  likely  to  be  of  interest  to 
succeeding  generations. 

The  date  of  this  skate,  formed  from  the  metacarpal  bone  of  a 
horse,  is  conjectural,  probably  circa  1200.  Progression  on  bone 
skates  was  effected  by  the  wearer  punting  himself  along  by  means 
of  a  piked  staff,  and  Fitz-Stephen  relates  how  the  London  appren- 
tices were  wont — imitative  of  knights  at  a  joust  or  tournament — 
sportively  to  charge  upon  each  other  thus  shod  and  armed. 

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"  Sometime  two  runne  together  with  poles,  and  hitting  one  the 
other,  eyther  one  or  both  doe  fall,  not  without  hurt ;  some  break 
their  armes,  some  their  legs." 

No.  2  is  the  earliest  blade  skate  we  have  seen  ;  its  date  is  prob- 
ably 1664  or  thereabouts.  It  is  adorned  with  a  foliated  prow,  and 
is  the  only  example  of  a  decorated  skate  with  which  we  are  ac- 
quainted. Right-angled  ;  radius  about  y^  ft. ;  width  of  blade,  J  in. 
One  might  picture  such  if  **  'Twere  not  to  consider  too  curiously  to 
consider  so,'*  as  having  shod  some  one  of  those  gallants  who  excited 
the  admiration  of  Evelyn  when  he  remarked  on  *'  Having  seene  the 

strange  and  wonderful  dexterity  of  the  sliders,  on  the  new  canal  in 
St.  James's  Park,  performed  before  their  Majesties  by  divers  gentle- 
men and  others  with  scheets,  after  the  manner  of  Hollanders." 

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No.  3,  a  German  skate,  date  about  1810.  Right  angles;  no 
curve;  width  of  blade  J  in. 

No.  4,  Knglish  "  club  skate,"  about  1855.  Radius  4  J  ft. ;  right 
angles;  width  of  blade  f^  in. 

No.  5,  the  English  skate  as  used  for  combined  figures  and  large 
turns ;  the  present  day.  The  method  of  attaching  the  blade  to  the 
plates  by  means  of  screws  and  bolts  is  clumsy.  This  skate  is  much 
heavier  than  No.  6.     Radius  7  ft. ;   obtuse  angles ;  width  of  blade 

No.  6  is  a  slight  modification  of  the  pattern    introduced   by 


Jackson  Haynes.  It  is  becoming  very  popular  in  England,  and  is 
used  abroad  by  Hiigel,  Salchow,  Fuchs,  Bohatsch,  and  others.  The 
row  of  small  teeth  cut  in  the  prow  enable  toe  spins  and  pirouettes 
to  be  effected  with  ease  and  without  damage  to  the  ice.  Radius 
about  5 J  ft. ;  acute  angles  ;  width  of  blade  J  in.,  tapering  slightly  to 
toe  and  heel. 

In  conclusion,  it  is  safe  to  assert  that  skating  is  one  of  the  sports 
in  which  the  greatest  skill  has  been  attained  by  living  exponents. 
**  Vixere  fortes  ante  Agamemnona  *'  does  not  apply  in  this  connec- 
tion.    Though  there  was  no  lack  of  bards  to  sing  the  praises  of  the 

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skaters  of  former  days,  their  exploits,  as  thus  recounted,  must  be 
received  with  discretion. 

The  legends,  still  occasionally  met  with,  of  skaters  apt,  among 
other  feats,  to  inscribe  their  names  on  the  ice,  or  **  by  turning  and 
winding  with  much  adroitness  readily  in  succession  to  describe  upon 
the  ice  the  form  of  all  the  letters  in  the  alphabet,"  may  be  relegated 
to  the  same  limbo  as  the  early  accounts  of  speed-skating,  in  which  it 
was  a  not  uncommon  occurrence  for  a  competitor  to  cover  a  mile  a 
minute  ;  indeed,  one  gentleman  of  extreme  velocity  has  been  credited 
with  the  amazing  record  of  two  miles  in  two  minutes,  vide  **  Annals 
of  Sporting  and  Fancy  Gazette,*'  London,  1822. 

It  is  our  hope,  in  bidding  the  reader  adieu,  that  this  little  review 
may  interest  some  who  are  already  skaters,  and  induce  others  to 
adventure  the  **  irons  "  where,  as  Dr.  Johnson  says — 

O'er  crackling  ice,  o'er  gulfs  profound, 

With  nimble  glide  the  skaiters  play  ; 
O'er  treacherous  pleasures'  flowery  ground 

Thus  lightly  skim  and  haste  away. 

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If  the  New  Zealand  tour  has  taught  the  Rugby  Union  nothing 
else — and  I  doubt  not  but  that  it  has  taught  them  a  good  many 
things — it  ought  at  any  rate  to  have  instilled  into  them  the  fact  that 
a  house  divided  against  itself  cannot  stand.  Club  after  club  of 
old-established  reputation  has  fallen  before  the  onslaught  of  our 
Colonists,  and  but  lately  I  heard  a  Cambridge  man  puffing  himself 
up  at  the  expense  of  an  Oxford  brother  because,  forsooth,  his 
University  had  only  lost  by  fifteen  points  to  nil !  Ye  gods,  what 
an  enviable  distinction  ! 

No  purpose  will  be  served,  however,  by^^cataloguing  at  length 
disasters  that  are  fresh  in  the  minds  of  all,  and  it  would  need  a  more 
far-seeing  brain  than  that  of  the  writer  to  settle  the  problem  as 
to  whether  the  Rugby  Union  will  recognise  the  cause  of  their 
disasters,  not  only  this  season  but  during  preceding  ones,  in  their 
split  with  the  professional  element.  But  whether  or  not  the  pro- 
teges of  the  handling  code  receive  back  the  sinners  with  open  arms 
and  recognise  at  length  that  a  paid  player  is  not   necessarily  an 

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assassin,  it  is  vitally  important  that  we  of  Association  inclination 
should  grasp  the  lesson  that  New  Zealand  has  tried  to  teach  the 
Rugby  players  of  England,  and  that  we  should  not  only  grasp  it 
but  that  we  should  act  on  it  now,  henceforward,  and  for  ever. 

If  we  look  at  the  position  of  Association  football  in  Great 
Britain  to-day  we  shall  find  that  it  is  satisfactory  from  every  point 
of  view,  except,  perhaps,  that  of  the  amateur.  Unfortunately  the 
latter  is  being  gradually  but  surely  swept  away  by  this  inrush  of 
professionalism,  and  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  if  he  vanishes 
altogether  the  epithet  *' satisfactory '*  will  also  vanish  from  the 
dictionary  of  football.  Professionalism  by  itself  is  a  very  excellent 
thing ;  but  it  is  possible  to  have  too  much  of  a  good  thing — even 
of  an  excellent  thing.  The  ideal  formation  of  a  pastime,  and  some- 
times also  of  a  sport,  is  professionalism  leavened  by  amateurism. 
In  the  hunting  or  shooting  field  we  see  this  is  the  case,  where  the 
Master  and  his  whips  or  the  host  and  his  keepers  unite  to  show 
us  the  best  of  sport ;  and,  still  closer  to  our  argument,  we  witness  it 
in  the  Yorkshire  cricket  eleven  with  its  professionalism  combining 
with  the  unsullied  amateurism  of  Lord  Hawke. 

Amateur  football  pure  and  simple  cannot  live  by  itself;  for  a 
brief  moment  or  two  an  isolated  team,  such  as  the  Corinthians  of 
the  present  day  or  the  Old  Carthusians  of  the  past,  may  be  found 
to  be  able  to  tackle  satisfactorily  our  professional  combinations ;  but 
it  is  not  the  rule — only  the  exception.  Apply  our  football  system 
to  the  summer  game  and  solely  amateur  clubs  would  soon  be  left 
behind.  At  either  pastime  we  have  many  brilliant  individual 
players.  Cricket  knows  how  to  use  them,  and  gently  shuffles  them 
in  with  the  professional  pack.  Football  allows  them  to  waste  their 
sweetness  and  their  skill  on  the  deserted  arena  of  an  exclusively 
amateur  club. 

We  are  happily  able  to  state  that  at  the  present  time,  with 
the  exception,  perhaps,  of  the  London  Football  Association  and 
some  kindred  admirers  of  the  good  old  days,  there  is  no  animus 
whatever  among  amateurs  against  their  paid  brother;  the  reverse 
is  rather  the  case,  and  never  was  the  ground  more  ripe  for  the  seed 
of  friendship  to  be  sown  where  hitherto  the  rank  weed  of  dis- 
union has  flourished  alone.  There  are  perhaps  in  England  to-day 
some  dozen  amateurs  playing  for  professional  clubs  :  ten  years  ago 
there  were  none.  So  that  we  have  indeed  progressed,  though  our 
progress  has  not  been  far  enough.  In  every  professional  side  I 
should  like  to  see  that  leaven  of  amateurism — not  shamateurism 
please,  but  the  real  hall-marked  article — which  I  mentioned  earlier 
in  my  paper.  And  I  should  like  to  see  it  there  for  two  good 
reasons  of  equal,  and,  to  my  mind,  inseparable  importance.     First, 

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THE    LESSON    FROM     NfiW   ZEALAND  49 

for  the  sake  of  the  professionals  themselves;  secondly,  for  the  sake 
of  the  amateurs;  in  a  word,  for  the  sake  of  the  game. 

The  amateurs,  as  I  have  already  pointed  out,  are  not  numerically 
strong  enough  in  first-class  players  to  flourish  alone,  and  yet  their 
talent  is  far  too  valuable  when  it  exists  not  to  be  used  in  the  way 
I  have  mentioned.  Nor  are  signs  wanting  in  professional  football 
that  there  is  need  of  some  tactfully  restraining  hand — some  inocu- 
lator  of  the  serum  of  true  sportsmanlike  feeling. 

The  crowd  at  a  football  match  has  always  in  its  hands  the 
j)ower  to  make  or  mar  a  game,  even  a  team.  Taken  as  a  whole,  the 
spectators  of  the  winter  game  are  sportsmanlike,  and  delight  to  see 
the  game  played  in  its  proper  spirit ;  but  on  nearly  every  ground  nowa- 
days there  exists  a  small  but  always  noisy  band  of  what  I  can  only 
call  the  "  win-at-any-pricers."  Vox  populi,  vox  Dei,  and  the  player 
is  only  human.  Small  wonder,  then,  if  he  is  encouraged  to  repro- 
duce dirty  tricks  and  unfair  tactics  when  applause  is  given  to  them 
which  makes  up  for  its  scantiness  by  loudness  and  reiteration,  and 
even  requests  for  more.  This  section  of  the  crowd,  too,  is  great  at 
referee- baiting ;  no  decision,  however  just,  against  the  home  side, 
but  is  met  with  scoffs  and  jeers;  no  decision /or  them,  whether  right 
or  wrong,  but  is  greeted  with  applause. 

The  canaille  of  the  football  ground,  perhaps  one  per  cent,  of  the 
assembled  thousands,  bids  fair  to  ruin  the  game  for  everyone  else 
and  to  make  the  players  turn  legitimate  excitement  into  illegitimate 
unfairness.  And  here  the  leaven  of  amateurism  would  come  in.  A 
player  who  had  tact  and  was  popular  with  his  side  could  by  a  mere 
word  restore  the  lost  temper,  prevent  the  coming  storm ;  or  with 
the  spectators  he  might,  with  equal  success,  subdue  excitement 
that  was  becoming  ugly.  Both  player  and  spectator  would  lend 
a  ready  ear  to  another  player — really  a  good  fellow  and  a  good 
performer — whom  they  knew  to  be  in  the  right,  where  they  might 
be  deaf  to  a  whole  army  of  directors. 

For  a  moment  we  will  hark  back  to  the  Yorkshire  cricket  team. 
Can  one  for  a  moment  imagine  any  of  the  Yorkshire  bowlers  sending 
down  body  balls,  or  indulging  in  any  similar  unfair  tricks  ?  Can 
one  imagine  Lord  Hawke  allowing  one  of  his  men  to  pretend  to 
bowl  and  then  to  run  his  opponent  out  ?  The  answer  is  a  decided 
no.  Well,  we  want  a  Lord  Hawke — two  or  three  of  them,  if 
pK>ssible — in  every  Association  team  before  the  public  to-day. 
Difficult,  of  course,  may  be  the  task  to  find  them,  but  public  school 
and  university  would  not  say  impossible.  And  here  do  not  let  my 
reader  run  away  with  the  idea  that  I  think  that  only  amateurs  know 
how  to  play  the  game,  and  that  the  paid  player  is  not  a  sportsman. 
Far  from  it.  I  have  known  more  fotil  players  among  amateurs 
NO.  czxvi.    VOL.  xxu.— January  1906  D 

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than  professionals,  but  only  few  of  these  former  have  been  public 
school  men.  There  are  degrees  of  sportsmanship.  There  is  the 
man  who  will  forget  himself  only  under  extreme  provocation.  There 
is,  again,  the  man  who  will  never  forget  himself  under  any  provoca- 
tion whatever.  And  somehow  I  think  I  can  with  justice  urge  that 
we  are  more  likely  to  find  this  latter  type  among  fellows  who  have 
been  brought  up  on  the  best  traditions  of  the  game,  who  have  been 
taught  from  their  earliest  age  that  departure  from  its  unwritten  laws 
means  temporary  social  ostracism,  than  we  are  from  any  other 

To  take  another  aspect  of  the  case,  there  is  no  longer  any 
doubt  that  the  directors  will  receive  with  open  arms  any  amateur 
player  who  is  up  to  the  standard  of  the  club.  In  these  expensive 
days  of  football  it  is  no  small  thing  to  be  able  to  decrease  instead 
of  increase  the  wages  bill,  and,  moreover,  a  good  amateur  will 
always  introduce  some  individuality  into  an  eleven,  and  also  a 
quantity  of  dash,  which  is  getting  somewhat  rare  amid  the  machine- 
like methods  of  professionalism. 

Finally,  we  have  before  us  two  examples,  one  of  unity  and  one 
of  disunity,  between  amateur  and  professional.  Cricket,  the  former, 
stands  united  and  flourishing;  Rugby  football  is  disunited  and 
almost  shattered.  Hitherto  Associationists  have  been  inclined  to 
fall  between  the  two  stools;  but  signs  are  not  wanting  that  now  it  is 
their  tendency  to  learn  their  lesson,  and  it  only  remains  to  be  seen 
whether  the  unpaid  players  can  fit  themselves  into  the  all  too  few 
crevices  left  for  them  by  the  paid.  If  they  can  do  so,  then  football 
has  even  a  greater  future  than  it  has  had  a  past ;  if  they  cannot, 
then  the  game  as  a  national  pastime  is  doomed  to  destruction  within 
a  few  years. 

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BY    LT.-COL.    COUNT    GLEICHEN,    C.M.G.,    D.S.O.,    C.V.O. 

"  What  ?  Shoot  capercailzie  in  the  breeding-season  ?  And  shoot 
him  sitting  ?  On  a  tree  ?  With  a  scatter-gun  ?  What  an  unsports- 
manlike thing  to  do  !  And  what  rotten  sport — it  can't  be  sport  at 
all !  " 

Thus  to  me  a  British  friend.  And,  until  I  went  on  the  **  balz  "  ^ 
myself,  I  was  inclined  to  agree  with  him.  But  I  have  altered  my 

In  the  big  pine  forests  in  Germany  there  are  many  capercailzie. 
As  everyone  knows,  they  are  extremely  shy  birds  ;  and  as  the  forests 
are  very  big,  it  is  impossible  to  drive  them.  The  only  way  of  getting 
them,  therefore,  is  to  stalk  them ;  and  as  they  are  so  wary  that  the 
crackle  of  a  twig  a  hundred  yards  off  is  enough  to  send  them  flitting, 
it  is  only  possible  to  approach  them  when  they  are  temporarily  deaf. 
This,  by  a  curious  law  of  nature,  happens  only  during  the  breeding- 
season,  at  a  particular  moment  when  they  are  calling  (**  balz-ing  ") 
to  their  lady-loves,  and  therefore  nature  must  be  held  responsible 
for  the  otherwise  unnatural  time  which  one  has  to  choose  for  their 

Last  April  it  was  my  luck  to  go  out  on  the  balz.  Place: 
the  outlying  spurs  of  the  Thiiringer  Wald.  Time  :  2.15  a.m.,  or  there- 

1  To  those  unacquainted  with  German,  I  would  say  that  this  word  rhymes  with  the 
English  word  "  results." 

D  2 

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After  an  hour's  drive  through  the  dark  my  friend  Captain  V. 
and  I  were  met  by  a  depressed-looking  little  man  at  the  outskirts  of 
a  pine  wood.  Two  minutes'  confabulation  revealed  the  fact  that 
during  the  last  three  mornings  a  couple  of  cock  had  been  calling 
fairly  steadily  in  a  certain  direction.  So  we  left  the  carriage  and 
plodded  uphill  on  foot.  It  was  still  dark,  with  snow  underfoot,  and 
a  fine  snow  falling — cold,  but  luckily  no  wind.  Half-an-hour's 
trudge  over  a  vile  path,  and  we  had  arrived  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
where  a  cock  had  been  heard  the  day  before.  Cartridges  (No.  2) 
were  quietly  slipped  in,  and  the  gun  cocked  without  noise.  Then  a 
silent  wait  in  the  cold  for  another  half-hour.  Not  a  sound,  till  the 
dull  sky  began  to  lighten  by  ever  so  little — and  then  an  owl  began 
calling  **  Tu-hu-hu-hu-hu  "  close  by.  Still  no  sound  of  our  friend — 
and  then — a  double  noise  like  two  dry  sticks  being  clicked  gently 
together,  so  faint  at  first  that  it  did  not  suggest  any  live  thing.  Five 
minutes'  pause — then  the  clicking  again,  but  rather  louder,  perhaps 
a  hundred  yards  ahead  of  us. 

V.  signed  to  me  to  be  ready  to  rush,  and  with  every  nerve  on 
edge  we  waited.  More  clicking,  more  and  more  continuous,  and 
then  the  blessed  sound  **  Slif-slif-slif-slif !  "  At  the  first  "slif "  we 
bounded  forward  three  paces  and  halted  suddenly,  as  the  noise  had 
finished  with  a  gentle  **  pop."  More  waiting,  perhaps  five  minutes, 
till  he  began  again.  **  K6rk^-kork ;  kuk-kuk;  kak-kak ;  kek-kek; 
kik-kik  ....  Slif-slif-slif,"  etc. — like  water  being  poured  gently  out 
of  a  bottle :  it  is  impossible  to  represent  the  exact  sounds — "  pst-pop ! " 
And  there  we  were,  three  paces  on,  it  is  true,  but  standing  in  most 
inartistic  and  uncomfortable  attitudes.  My  right  foot  was  in  a 
puddle  of  icy  water,  and  my  left  twisted  round  sideways  in  an  almost 
unbearable  position — yet  I  dared  not  move.  V.  was  still  more 
uncomfortable,  for  the  "pop"  had  caught  him  in  the  middle  of  a 
stride,  and  he  was  on  one  leg,  with  the  other  foot  balancing  un- 
steadily in  front ;  yet  he  dared  not  put  it  down,  for  fear  of  breaking 
a  twig  or  making  some  trifling  sound.  My  heart  was  thumping  like 
a  steam-engine,  the  fine  falling  snow  was  tickling  my  nose,  I  felt 
desperately  inclined  to  sneeze,  and  my  gun  happened  to  be  at  an 
angle  at  which  it  was  agony  to  hold  it  for  more  than  a  minute.  Yet 
that  bird  was  deathly  still,  and  there  was  not  a  whisper  in  the  woods. 

Gradually  a  feeling  of  anger  came  over  me  at  the  wretched  bird 
who  could  keep  me  waiting  for  ten  minutes  in  a  pool  of  cold  water 
and  in  excruciating  agony.  I  felt  inclined  to  chance  everything  and 
put  myself  quietly  comfortable ;  but  a  stealthy  glance  at  V.  re- 
assured me — he  was  suffering  even  more  than  I.  .  .  .     All  things 

The  sound  is  more  like  the  guttural  Arabic  "  Kd.f  "  than  any  I  know. 

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have  an  end,  and  at  last,  to  our  immense  relief,  the  cock  began  again. 
This  time,  and  the  next,  we  did  about  five  paces,  and  a  breathed 
**Do  you  see  him  ?  "  from  V.  reached  my  ears.  I  didn't,  and  shook 
my  head  gently.  So  at  the  next  rush  he  went  forward  with  his  arm 
stretched  out,  pointing  to  a  particular  tree  which  had  been  concealed 
from  me  by  intervening  brushwood.  Then  came  the  **  pop  "  before 
he  had  a  chance  to  lower  his  arm ;  and  thus  he  remained  for  the 
next  five  minutes,  within  full  view  of  the  bird,  and  with  an  expression 
of  patient  suffering  on  his  face.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  repress  a 
chuckle,  but  this  time  I  caught  sight  of  the  bird  too — sitting  on  a 
branch,  high  up,  clear  against  the  dark  sky,  but  a  good  forty  yards 
off.  His  neck  was  stretched  out,  and  he  was  jerking  lightly  from 
side  to  side — a  sign  that  he  was  alarmed  at  something.     So,  making 


a  virtue  of  necessity,  I  slowly,  very  slowly,  raised  my  gun,  took  a 
steady  aim,  and  pressed  the  trigger. 

That  bird  had  been  sitting  there  for  a  good  hour,  and  he  might 
just  as  well  have  remained  there  for  another  second.  But  he  didn't.  At 
the  exact  moment  when  I  pulled  the  trigger  I  became  aware  that  the 
cock  had  suddenly  dived  off  his  branch.  The  shot  flew  harmless 
over  his  head,  and  before  I  could  spot  him  in  the  half  light  and  get 
the  second  barrel  in  he  had  swooshed  down  through  the  smaller 
branches  and  disappeared,  with  a  sharp  turn  to  the  right,  into  a  dark 

I  will  not  describe  our  feelings. 

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The  depressed  little  man,  who  had  waited  behind,  came  running 
up  at  the  shot,  and  his  face  fell.  But  he  offered  what  was  meant  to 
be  consolation  by  relating  that  in  the  previous  year  the  very  same 
cock  had  been  missed — a  sitting  shot — on  the  very  same  branch  by 
another  sportsman  at  ten  yards'  range.  It  was  quite  possible,  for  the 
cocks  are  very  constant  to  their  tree — but  it  was  no  balm  to  our  sore 
hearts.  All  that  remained  was  to  listen  if  cock  No.  2  were  bail- 
ing. But  after  a  short  stealthy  walk  and  a  listening  of  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  we  agreed  that  it  was  getting  too  light,  so  we  went 

Next  morning  we  were  out  again  about  the  same  time,  but  in  a 
different  and  much  more  hilly  direction.  The  bird  of  the  previous 
day  had  not  begun  to  balz  before  4.15,  chiefly  because  the  weather 
was  dull  and  cold ;  but  the  following  morning  was  glorious.  We 
struggled  uphill  over  tree-stumps  and  through  wet  moss  at  break- 
neck speed  in  the  dark :  for  as  the  weather  was  quite  still  and  clear, 
it  was  probable  that  the  capercailzie  would  begin  balzing  rather 
earlier,  and  we  were  a  trifle  late. 

Arrived  at  the  appointed  spot  we  listened  intently  till  the  land- 
scape grew  clearer  and  clearer  with  the  approach  of  dawn.  Another 
owl  saluted  us  in  the  stillness;  the  mists  in  the  valley  below  began 
to  roll  away ;  the  sky  became  redder  and  redder — yet  not  a  sound. 
Then  at  last  the  welcome  half-audible  click  in  the  distance.  As  we 
moved  cautiously  forward  there  was  suddenly  a  loud  rustle  in  the  tree 
close  by,  and  with  much  fuss  and  pother  a  lordly  capercailzie  arose 
and  sailed  down  towards  the  valley.  So  close,  and  yet  he  had  not 
made  a  single  call :  evidently  bad  weather  ahead — confirmed  by  the 
colour  of  the  sky.  For  a  long  time  we  stood  silent,  and  then  the 
clicking  began  again,  but  badly,  feebly,  and  at  long  intervals.  It 
required  infinite  patience  to  get  close,  for  the  **  slif-slif '*  was  very 
short,  and  the  hillside  rocky,  tufty,  crackly,  and  stubby.  Meanwhile, 
however,  as  if  to  make  up  for  our  discomfort,  the  sight  of  the  rising 
sun  was  beautiful.  The  trees,  silhouetted  at  first  black  against  the 
sky,  gradually  took  on  their  rich  dark  colouring ;  the  grey  boulders 
stood  out  against  the  yellow  grass ;  and  the  feathery  larches  paled 
to  a  delicate  green.  Then,  just  as  the  sun's  disc  began  to  show,  and 
tipped  the  big  firs  with  gold,  a  regular  chorus  of  small  birds'  voices 
arose,  re-echoing  the  harmony  from  copse  to  copse. 

And  amongst  it  all  the  feeble  intermittent  click  and  guggle  of 
our  cock  drew  us  onward. 

Even  when  within  twenty  yards  of  the  bird  it  was  difficult  to 
spot  him.  He  was  sitting  on  a  young  pine  surrounded  by  a  thicket 
of  fuzzy  spruce ;  and  although  I  could  get  glimpses  of  bits  of  him,  for 
a  time  I  could  not  see  enough  to  shoot  at.     Then  at  last,  after  im- 

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mense  precaution,  and  with  my  heart  going  like  a  sledge-hammer,  I 
sidled  in  among  the  spruce,  under  protection  of  his  '*  slif-slif,'*  and 
got  a  good  view  of  him.  He  was  a  beautiful  bird,  with  his  head  out, 
beak  wide  open,  wings  stretched  low  on  either  side,  and  tail  aspread 
like  a  big  fan.  With  the  sunlight  reflected  off  his  coppery  green 
throat-feathers  and  the  sheeny  black  of  his  tail,  it  seemed  a  brutal 
thing  to  slay  him.  But  the  sun  went  behind  a  cloud  and  I  hardened 
my  heart. 

He  fell  without  a  struggle,  and  we  returned  in  triumph.  He 
turned  the  scale  at  a  little  over  9  lb.  (German). 

On  the  following  morning,  after  half  a  gale  had  blown  itself  out 
during  the  night,  I  went  after  another  cock  in  the  same  neighbour- 
hood. The  stalk  was  not  remarkable  except  for  one  thing — the  mar- 
vellous hearing  power  of  the  bird.  We  were  a  good  hundred  yards 
off,  and  the  cock  was  beginning  to  balz  fairly  well,  when  suddenly, 
whilst  we  were  standing  absolutely  still — in,  as  usual,  desperately 
uncomfortable  positions — V.'s  ankle,  which  was  slewed  round  all 
crookedwise,  gave  a  crack  ....  We  had  to  wait  fifteen  minutes  by 
the  watch  before  that  bird  began  again. 

Then  again,  when  fifty  yards  nearer,  to  ease  my  attitude  I 
happened  to  lean  rather  more  heavily  on  one  foot.  A  tiny  twig 
under  the  carpet  of  pine  needles  snapped,  so  that  I  could  feel 
but  hardly  hear  it.  Yet  that  bird  was  completely  dumb  for  the 
next  twenty  minutes.  At  one  moment  V.  breathed  quietly  his 
opinion  that  we  might  as  well  shut  up  and  go  home  :  but  we 
gave  the  cock  another  chance,  and  at  last  he  began  again. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  I  got  to  within  twenty  yards  of 
the  cock,  but  there  I  stuck.  He  was  sitting  on  a  branch,  with 
the  trunk  between  himself  and  me,  and  all  I  could  see  was  his 
tail  and  a  third  of  the  after  end  of  his  body.  The  tail  was 
already  gently  quivering  with  alarm,  and  had  I  worked  round 
he  must  have  seen  me  and  bolted.  So  I  had  to  chance  it,  and 
fired  at  what  was  visible.  A  crash  through  the  branches  told 
that  I  had  not  missed,  but  before  reaching  the  ground  he  found 
the  use  of  his  wings,  and,  almost  invisible  in  the  dark,  half  flew 
and  half  ran  at  a  desperate  rate  into  a  thicket  a  few  yards  off". 
That  thicket  was  about  a  mile  square,  and  we  had  of  course  no  dog. 

My  friend  was  convinced  we  should  never  see  the  bird  again, 
but,  knowing  where  I  had  hit  him,  I  ventured  to  diff'er.  We 
therefore  waited  till  broad  daylight,  and  turned  out  a  dozen 
labourers  with  a  couple  of  dogs  to  look  for  him. 

After  ten  minutes*  careful  search  we  found  him — stone  dead 
and  within  two  hundred  yards  of  where  he  had  gone  in. 

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Amongst  other  things  that  were  borne  in  on  me  during  these 
three  days,  I  found  that  considerable  science  was  required  for  timing 
the  stalk.  If  you  are  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  you  run  the  risk 
of  making  a  noise  and  disturbing  the  birds.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
you  are  too  cautious,  you  will  hear  an  occasional  swish  through 
the  air  in  his  direction,  and  will  recognise  that  his  lady-loves 
are  obeying  their  lord's  behests,  and  that  their  lord  will  shortly 
descend  from  his  throne  to  dally  with  them  below.  It  is  then  a 
case  of  **  all  over."  He  honours  as  many  as  three  or  four  of  them 
each  morning  with  his  attentions,  and  at  the  end  of  the  balzing 
season  he  is  looking  rather  disreputable,  worn,  and  ragged. 
About  this  time  his  head  and  neck  show  signs  of  many  a  fight, 
sometimes  an  eye  is  gone,  and  his  strut  has  lost  its  pristine 
pride:  three  weeks,  after  all,  of  nothing  but  fighting  are  apt  to 
weaken  the  knees  of  the  strongest  man.  By  the  end  of  the  first 
week  in  May^  however,  his  trials  are  over,  and  he  rapidly  recovers 
on  the  budding  fir-tops,  and  grows  fat  and  handsome  again  in 
the  sunny  weather.  Family  cares  do  not  seem  to  interest  or 
weigh  upon  him,  and  the  hen  has  to  hatch  out  her  four  to 
six  eggs,  of  a  greenish  speckly  brownish  grey,  according  to  her 
own  lights. 

It  is  difficult  to  see  why  the  capercailzie  should  be  such  a 
shy  bird,  and  so  well  provided  by  nature  that  he  has, 
according  to  the  local  saying,  an  eye  and  an  ear  at  the  end 
of  each  feather.  He  can  have  but  few  enemies.  Prowling 
foxes  and  weasels  below,  and  martens  and  hawks  above,  may 
be  a  serious  danger  to  young  birds,  but  these  are  apparently  the 
only  enemies  with  whom  the  Cock  o'  the  Woods  has  to  deal  ; 
and  when  he  has  grown  to  his  full  strength  he  need  hardly 
fear  them.  Man  he  can  see  but  little  of  and  hardly  know  by 
sight,  yet  of  him  he  is  the  shyest.  And  here  nature  has 
turned  traitor :  for  the  deafness  which  alone  enables  brutal 
man  to  approach  him  during  his  **slif-slif*  call  is  a  purely 
natural  defect.  The  opening  of  the  beak  to  make  this  noise 
causes  two  little  horny  plates  to  descend  perpendicularly  in 
front  of  each  earhole,  and  whilst  they  are  there  the  bird 
hears  literally  nothing.  A  gun  may  be  fired  close  by,  the  man 
may  yell  or  make  any  noise  he  pleases ;  and  the  cock, 
absorbed  in  his  own  sweet  music,  pays  not  the  smallest 

It  is  said  that  if  two  cocks  are  balzing  near  each  other 
you  can  get  them  both  by  shooting  one  whilst  the  other  is 
**  slif-sliffing,"  and  then  turning  your  attention  to  the  other.  I 
can   quite   believe   it,   for  during  his   song   the    cock    is    so  self- 

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absorbed  that  he  not  only  hears  nothing  but  sees  nothing  either. 
If,  however,    he   sees  you    in    the   intervals    of    balzing,    he  gets 
at  first  nervous   and   restless.      If  you   remain    absolutely  still,  he 
will,  after    gazing  at   you  for  a  bit,  think   you   are  only  an  oddly 
shaped    piece    of   landscape,    and    return    to    his    balz.      But    a 
nervousness    will   still   remain   at   the  back  of  his  mind,   and  the 
quiver     in     between    whiles    will     tell    you    that    he    is    a    trifle 
alarmed   and   may  be   off  at    any   moment.       I    need   hardly   say 
that   if,   during   the  scrutiny,  you   wink   your   eye   or   change  the 
expression    of  your  face,   the   cock   will  vanish    long   before   you 
can    get    your    gun    up.      Therefore   keep    your    face     modestly 
cast  down,   and,   as    regards   your   gun,   hold   it  pointing  at    the 
bird,    or  he   may   see  the  glint  of  the  rising  sun   on   the  barrels. 

*  *  *  j;:  :;: 

I  do  not  know  whether  I  have  succeeded  in  conveying  to 
the  reader  any  idea  of  the  charm  of  the  sport  I  have  endeavoured 
to  describe.  I  can  only  sa}',  speaking  for  myself,  that  after 
my  first  stalk  I  was  quivering  from  head  to  foot  with  intense 
feeling,  and  was  sacrilegious  enough  to  express  the  opinion  that 
it  was  a  much  more  exciting  sport  than  deerstalking. 


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THE    OLD    MODE    AND    THE     NEW— A     NEW     ZEALAND    WHEEL    CART 



AuTOMOHiLiSM  !  The  word  almost  inspires  awe  as  in  imagination 
one  travels  through  the  ages  and  sees  the  **car"  developing.  First 
of  all  comes  to  mind  the  chariot  of  the  Egyptians-^the  huge,  not 
ungainly  vehicle  that  was  the  pride  of  some  rich  noble;  and  so 
through  all  sorts  of  wheeled  vehicles  we  come  to  the  motor  of 

Not  so  long  ago  George  Stephenson  developed  the  **auto'*  idea 
and  brought  out  one  of  the  wonders  of  all  time — the  locomotive. 
But  a  locomotive  can  only  go  where  first  its  rails  have  been  laid, 
and  to  the  unconquerable  energy  of  man  this  inflexibility  of  move- 
ment was  only  another  incentive  to  further  progress. 

In  Cugnot's  dreams  he  seemed  to  be  able  to  travel  with  light- 
ning speed  over  the  world,  and  his  imagination  builded  for  him  a 
fairy  car.  **  Thoughts  are  things,"  so  say  the  wise,  and  imagination 
after  all  is  but  the  faculty  of  foreseeing,  and  so  clothing  with  thought 
what  must  some  day  be  formed  in  the  material  world.  Out  o( 
Cugnot's  imagination  then  was  born,  in  1769,  the  first  of  all  vehicles 

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ROUND    THE    WORLD    IN    A    MOTOR    CAR        59 

to  move  by  its  own  power  on  land — the  beginning  of  the  latter-day 
development  of  that  which  in  this  twentieth  century  is  still  young, 
"  Automobilism." 

To  the  student,  and  even  to  the  casual  reader,  as  yet  it  means 
but  a  few  names.  These  are  veritable  landmarks  indeed  amid  an 
ocean  of  technicalities.  One  hears  of  **  engines  "  and  **  carburettors," 
of  "clutches,"  "ignition,"  and  "differentials,"  but  they  are  the 
A  B  C's  of  the  book  of  automobilism,  and  for  interest  one  hurries  on 
to  the  story  of  which  such  words  form  the  alphabet. 

"Cherchez  toujours  lafemme,"  say  the  French,  and  the  history 

MR.    GLIDDON     AND    THE     KING    OF    THE     FIJI     ISLANDS 

of  the  automobile  movement  is  not  without  its  women.  Perhaps  one 
who  could  recount  the  most  entertaining  of  car  experiences  would 
be  Mrs.  Charles  Gliddon,  an  indefatigable  world-explorer,  who,  in 
1903,  accompanied  her  husband  in  a  16  h.p.  Napier  to  the  frozen 
North.  The  motorists  started  in  Sweden,  and  the  journey  to  the 
Arctic  circle  was  one  long,  triumphant  procession.  Sweden  can 
boast  of  many  telephones,  and  these  were  used  to  such  good  purpose 
that  long  before  a  town  was  reached  cyclists  were  waiting  to  greet 
the  autoists  of  whose  wondrous  drive  they  had  heard  by  means  of 
the  "  phone."  After  welcoming  the  Gliddons  these  ardent  wheelmen 
turned  back  to  notify  their  townsfolk  that  the  car  was  on  the  way. 

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Great  was  their  astonishment  and  dismay  when  they  found  that  the 
car,  and  not  themselves,  was  to  be  first  at  the  rendezvous,  where 
the  inhabitants  of  the  surrounding  country  enthusiastically  received 
the  travellers  with  much  shouting  and  ringing  of  bells. 

A  rather  amusing  and  withal  instructive  incident  occurred  in 
a  diminutive  village  in  the  north  of  Sweden.  The  tyres — which 
were  especially  large — attracted  considerable  attention,  and  one  old 
man,  who  had  been  fondling  them  for  some  time,  turned  at  last  to 
Mrs.  Gliddon,  saying,  **  I  am  seventy-six  years  old,  and  hardly  now 
believe  that  such  a  thing  can  be  possible,  that  I  should  be  alive  to 


see  a  wagon  that  goes  by  itself  without  horses  and  with  such  wheels ! 
This  is  the  most  wonderful  thing  that  I  have  ever  seen." 

The  roads  in  Sweden  are  not  for  the  comfort-loving,  being 
mostly  narrow  and  rutty  with  a  wide  ditch  for  a  border:  in  some 
places  mere  gullies  do  duty,  while  far  north  there  are  only  reindeer 
tracks.  No  bridges  are  found  in  these  northern  regions,  and  the 
Napier  had  to  be  ferried  across  several  rivers  in  small  flat-bottomed 
boats :  in  two  or  three  cases  temporary  bridges  had  even  to  be  built 
first  from  the  shore  to  the  boat.  Plainly,  the  motorist  who  explores 
must  be  prepared  to  rough  it,  as  did  the  early  settlers  in  America  and 
the  colonies.     Lulea  is  the  wonder  spot  of  the  North,  for  it  glories 

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ROUND   THE    WORLD    IN    A    MOTO;?^     ^^^ 


in  the  possession  of  a  steam  ferry.     Miles  away  the  ^^a^vellers  h       ^ 
of  Lulei;  the  inhabitants  talked  of  it  with  glee,  and  told  them  th 
they  should  be  happy  indeed,  for  at  Lulei  they   Wou/d  have  the 
chance  of  crossing  a  river  on  a  steam  ferry  ! 

Intelligent  curiosity  is  well,  but  at  times  it  is  somewhat  embar- 
rassing.    The  people  in  these  country  villages  did  not  seem  able  to 
realise  that  motorists  were,  after  all,  of  the  human  race,  but  came 
and  looked  at  them  with  ill-concealed  amazement,  some  even  being 
venturesome  enough  to  climb  up  and  peep  into  the  hotel  windows, 
until  at  last  Mrs.  Gliddon  declares  she  was  really  obliged   to  look 

ALSO    IN    THE    CAR 

into  her  mirror  to  see  if  she  were  truly  the  same  woman  who  once 
upon  a  time  had  started  from  America. 

After  their  objective — the  magic  circle — had  been  crossed  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gliddon  had  bidden  good-bye  to  the  land  of  the  sad- 
faced  Laps  and  sturdy  Finns,  they  set  to  work  to  plan  a  novel  motor 
trip  round  the  world. 

In  1904  they  again  started  from  Boston,  on  a  Napier  still,  but 
this  time   one  of  somewhat   more  power.     From    Minneapolis  to 
Vancouver,  a  distance  of  some  1,800  miles,  they  travelled  on   the 
railway — in  their  own  car,  be  it  always  understood — and  averaged 
the  thrilling  speed  of  a  mile  a  minute. 

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From  Canada  to  Hawaii,  Fiji,  New  Zealand,  and  thence  to 
Tasmania,  Australia,  Java,  Malay,  London,  and  New  York,  is  a 
round-the-world  tour  which  must  have  been  productive  of  many 
noteworthy  an  experience. 

The  roads  of  Java  excited  Mrs.  GHddon's  admiration.  Every- 
one goes  bare-footed,  and  it  is  considered  a  sacred  duty  to  remove 
bits  of  glass  or  rough  stone  from  the  public  way — thus  for  the 
motorist  it  is  a  veritable  paradise.  Java,  indeed,  pleased  Mrs. 
Gliddon  immensely.     It  is,  she  says,  the  country  she  would  best 

A    TOWN    CLOCK     IN     ONE    OF    THE    FIJIAN     ISLANDS 

like  to  re- visit.  The  Dutch  have  not  yet  attempted  to  educate  the 
natives  beyond  work,  and  the  people  are  all  very  respectful  to  the 
whites,  removing  their  hats  or  crouching  to  the  ground  when  these 
pass.  The  Javanese  are  not  frightened  of  the  Dutch  rule,  but 
respect  it,  and  their  deference  to  all  Europeans  is  really  a  mark  of 
reverence  for  their  own  rulers. 

Mrs.  Gliddon  was  especially  interested  to  see  how  the  women 
are  beginning  to  regard  a  woman's  affairs  from  a  European  stand- 
point. The  impression  the  Javanese  give  a  visitor  is  that  of  happi* 
ness.      Some,    of  course,    are   wealthy,    but    the    majority   of  the 

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ROUND    THE    WORLD    IN    A    MOTOR    CAR         63 

population  is  composed  of  just  the  working  people  of  the  country, 
and  they  seem  perfectly  satisfied  with  their  life.  What  impresses 
the  stranger,  too,  is  the  mass  of  humanity  everywhere.  '*  We 
drove,"  says  Mrs.  Gliddon,  **  hundreds  of  miles  on  end.  There 
never  was  a  spot  two  hundred  yards  in  extent  where  we  could  escape 
people.  There  was  no  loneliness  anywhere.  Sometimes  I  thought, 
'  Surely,  now  we're  coming  to  a  place  without  people  ! '  But  no ;  as 
the  car  approached,  literally  thousands  of  black  heads  sprang  up 
from  the  rice  fields  on  either  side  of  the  road." 


Java  is  a  beautiful  country,  though  so  cultivated  that  one  looks 
longingly  for  an  oasis  that  has  not  been  touched ;  but  there  is  not  a 
spot  that  man  has  not  turned  into  a  garden,  and  the  place  is  so 
teeming  with  people  that  it  seems  to  be  always  one  entire  fete. 

There  is  here  a  great  deal  of  the  red-tape  rule.  One  must  first 
obtain  permission  to  enter  the  country  from  the  Governor-General ; 
next,  under  the  instructions  of  the  Resident,  the  Chief  Engineer  of 
Railways  inspects  the  car;  and  then,  after  having  paid  a  deposit  of 
about  £30  to  the  Customs,  one  can  procure  from  the  Post  Office 
Department  a  permit  to  remain  in  the  country  six  months.  The 
Dutch,  too,  are  exceedingly  watchful,  and  will  not  allow  anyone  who 

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might  cause  trouble  with  the  natives  to  enter  the  country.  This 
care  is,  however,  not  to  be  wondered  at,  when  one  considers  that 
they  have  charge  of  an  enormous  uneducated  population  of  some- 
thing over  thirty-five  millions. 

The  people  in  the  towns  had  seen  motors  before  the  appearance 
of  the  Gliddons ;  but  even  in  the  country  places,  where  they  were 
unknown,  no  one  seemed  to  be  frightened,  most  of  the  inhabitants 
contenting  themselves  with  staring  in  open-eyed  wonderment  as 
what  must  have  been  to  them  almost  a  miracle  passed  by. 

In  Fiji  the  natives  were  delighted  with  the  car,  none  of  them 
having  had  the  faintest  idea  of  what  it  would  look  like.     The  King 

A    HOTEL    IN     NEW    ZEALAND 

himself  had  never  seen  one  except  on  paper.  His  first  question  to 
Mr.  Gliddon  was,  however,  "  Will  it  go  sixty  miles  an  hour?  "  It 
seems  that  he  appreciates  speed.  The  people  screeched  themselves 
wild  with  joy  over  it,  and  named  it  "The  Father  of  all  Devils,  "The 
Boat  of  the  Land,"  and  "  The  God  of  Fire."  Every  two  or  three 
days  they  seemed  to  be  ready  with  a  new  name — never  feeling  quite 
satisfied  with  the  last.  They  all  wanted  to  ride  in  the  car,  and  even 
offered  as  much  as  a  shilling  to  pay  for  this  privilege.  The  mystery 
of  its  motive  power  appealed  strongly  to  them.  They  would  lie 
down  and  look  underneath  for  a  long  time  without  moving  to  see  if 
they  could  find  out  what  made  it  go.  Whenever  the  car  was 
stopped  immense  crowds  would  gather  round,  and  when  it  started 

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ROUND    THE    WORLD    IN     A    MOTOR    CA^i  g^ 




WO.  cxxvi      VOL    xxii.- January  190O 

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would  run  after  it  until  they  were  tired  out,  screaming  the  whole 

The  Fijians  were  frankly  attracted  by  the  man  who  could 
manage  such  a  strange  animal,  and  they  would  stand  round 
Mr.  Gliddon  and  look  at  him  as  if  the}^  had  never  seen  a  white  man 
before.  Some  offered  to  buy  his  clothes — thinking,  presumably,  that 
there  must  be  a  marvellous  power  in  them.  One  man  asked  him 
the  price  of  a  striped  shirt  he  happened  to  be  wearing.     Mr.  Gliddon, 


thinking  he  meant  the  cost,  turned  to  Mrs.  Gliddon  with  the  query, 
**  How  much?  "  When  she  replied,  **  Oh,  about  six  shillings,"  the 
native  shook  his  head,  and  taking  four  shillings  carefully  out  of  his 
mouth  tendered  them.  He  was  distressful  for  a  long  time  after  he 
was  refused,  and  for  about  an  hour  stood  round  the  car,  every  few 
minutes  offering  his  four  shillings. 

The  Fijians  strike  the  stranger  as  being  a  particularly  placid 
race,  whereas  one  would  assume,  from  the  fact  of  their  having  been 
cannibals  but  a  short  time  ago,  that  they  wculd  still  retain  more 
savage  characteristics. 

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Their  cannibalism  really  came  to  them  as  a  religion.  In  th^ 
old  days  they  believed  that  the  gods,  having  delivered  an  enemy  into 
their  hands,  expected  them  to  devour  as  well  as  to  kill  him;  and 
this  supposed  wish  they  most  strictly  carried  out — eating,  in  fact, 
everything  but  the  tongue.  When  the  car  was  in  Fiji  one  woman 
was  in  jail  for  having  killed  and  eaten  her  grandchild.  She  was 
the  only  one  who  for  a  long  time  had  broken  the  rule  against  eating 
human  flesh,  and  she  said  that  she  had  resisted  the  impulse  to  eat 
it  time  after  time, -but  had  at  last  felt  that  she  could  go  no  longer 
without  tasting  a  little  of  her  old  food. 

The  Princess  of  the  Fijians  is,  Mrs.  Gliddon  found,  very  beau- 
tiful in  face,  form,  and  character.  She  understands  English  well, 
but  cannot  speak  it,  or  rather  will  not,  as  she  is  of  a  retiring  nature, 
and  lacks  the  necessary  confidence  to  embark  upon  the  language. 
She  is  now  a  firm  believer  in  the  motor  car. 

After  escaping  from  the  enthusiasm  of  the  Fijians,  the  car  and 
its  occupants  wended  their  way  to  New  Zealand.  Here  they  were 
lucky  enough  to  be  able  to  run  over  Ward's  Parade — the  most 
southern  road  in  the  world — on  the  one  fine  day  that,  seemingly  for 
their  special  benefit,  was  sandwiched  in  between  many  wet  ones. 

Mrs.  Gliddon  can  say  that  she  has  been  both  farther  north  and 
farther  south  on  an  automobile  than  anyone  else  in  the  motoring 
world.  She  has  managed  to  see  something  of  over  eight  thousand 
different  cities,  villages,  and  settlements,  and  now  she  and  her 
husband  are  again  on  their  way  round  the  world  by  car — this  time 
keeping  near,  if  not  quite  within,  the  torrid  zone. 

E  2 

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Mk.  Phineas  Burkington  wore  a  frown  of  extreme  dissatisfaction 
on  his  fat  and  somewhat  foolish  face.  He  gnawed  his  short  sandy 
moustache  and  poked  the  fire  with  unnecessary  fierceness.  It  wasn't 
his  own  fire,  and  the  fact  that  he  poked  it  showed  extreme  tension 
of  mind.  For  he  was  quoted  as  a  pattern  of  politeness  by  many 
ladies  who  owned  marriageable  daughters,  and  he  must  surely  have 
been  aware  of  the  adage  which  permits  such  familiarity  in  a  house 
where  you  have  been  welcomed  for  seven  consecutive  years,  but 
under  no  other  circumstances. 

But  his  companion  and  host,  Mr.  Connor  O'Connor,  showed 
no  signs  of  resentment.  His  acquaintance  with  his  guest  had  not, 
indeed,  endured  for  the  period  prescribed — not  even  for  as  many 
weeks — but  his  respect  for  the  young  man,  and  for  his  shekels, 
was  limitless.  He  was  prepared  to  endure  much  at  the  hands  of 
the  sole  proprietor  of  Burkington's  Boot  Beautifier,  a  concern  which 
employed  its  thousands  and  had  made  its  owner  one  of  the  most 
prominent  men  in  all  Ireland.  Mr.  O'Connor,  in  fact,  viewed  the 
young  millionaire  through  very  rose-tinted  glasses — imaginative 
lenses  which  swelled  his  financial  virtues  to  the  exclusion  of  any 
small  defects  of  face  or  form.  In  Moyle  and  the  surrounding  district 
he  posed  as  Mr.  Burkington's  social  godfather.  Many  of  his 
neighbours  accused  him  of  hankering  after  a  closer  connection. 

He  looked  at  the  frowning  face  and  the  fiercely-brandished 
poker,  and  spoke  smoothly. 

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"Ah    now,    Phineas,"  he  pleaded,  "don't   be   after  disturbing" 

**  I  do  disturb  myself,"  retorted  Mr.  Burkington,  defiantly.  "It 
is  the  most  disturbing  thing  that  has  ever  happened  to  me.  After 
all  your  encouragements  to  be  refused  with — with  ignominy.  She 
said  she'd  as  soon  marry  Flitty  Boyle,  the  travelling  knacker !  " 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  dinted  old  O'Connor's  lips  and  fled  unseen 
— of  Mr.  Burkington. 

"  'Tis  but  her  wild  way  of  speakin' — the  unbridled  filly  that  she 
is,"  declared  the  father  of  the  lady  under  discussion.  **  For  a  penny 
I'd  lend  her  a  slap — the  colleen ;  but  as  likely  as  may  be  she'd 
return  it,  and  'tis  no  small  fist  she  has.  Take  time,  me  bhoy,  take 
time !  " 

**  My  patience  has  its  bounds,"  remarked  the  young  man, 

"Of  course  it  has,"  said  the  old  man,  suavely;  "but  you're  a 
terror  for  resolution — many's  the  time  I've  marked  that  in  your 
eye.  You'd  not  be  allowing  yourself  to  be  bested  by  a  shlip  of  a 
girl  ?  " 

Mr.  Burkington's  features  relaxed. 

"  If  I  had  the  rights  of  a  husband  I  have  no  doubt  I  could — 
er — tame  her,"  he  allowed.     "  At  present  I'm  at  a  disadvantage." 

Mr.  O'Connor  remembered  that  he  himself  had  possessed  the 
rights  of  a  father  for  twenty-one  years  and  some  months.  At  no 
period  did  he  recollect  relations  existing  between  himself  and  his 
offspring  in  which  he  could  be  regarded  as  tamer  and  she  as  tamed. 
But  these  reminiscences  he  kept  to  himself.  He  nodded  pro- 

"  That's  your  own  self  that's  talking  now  !  "  he  assented,  eagerly. 
"  In  six  months  you'll  be  riding  her  on  the  snaffle." 

"  I  have  yet  to  get  her  bitted,"  Mr.  Burkington  reminded  him, 
with  ponderous  joviality. 

"  And  that  you'll  not  do  with  one  finger  or  two,"  remarked  his 
host.  "  It  comes  to  this — you  must  be  always  at  her.  She  has  to 
get  accustomed  to  the  idea  of  you — you  must  be  there  always — slap 
in  her  eye.  Once  she  understands  that  you're  the  bhoy  for  her — 
the  only  one  I'll  let  her  live  and  marry — she'll  take  you  at  a 
gulp ! '' 

Mr.  Burkington  hardly  seemed  to  relish  this  metaphor.  The 
old  gentleman,  however,  failed  to  notice  his  frown  and  continued  the 

"  Don't  let  her  out  of  your  sight,  Phineas,"  he  admonished  him. 
"  Ride  with  her,  run  with  her,  sit  with  her!  Put  another  meet  a 
week  on  to  your  beagling  fixtures  and  show  her  sport.     Til  see  that 

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she  attends  them.      SheMl  come  with  all   her  heart.     She  adores 
running,  the  light  foot  that  she  has.'* 

In  spite  of  the  stimulating  nature  of  this  address  the  young 
man's  frown  deepened. 

**  She's  fond  enough  of  beagling,"  he  agreed,  "  but  so  is  that 
weedy  lad  from  the  barracks — Gaisford.  She's  always  a  great  deal 
more  in  his  company  than  mine." 

**  Him  ?  "sneered  the  old  man,  contemptuously.  **  The  fathom 
of  pump  water !  A  sound  man  like  y'rself  could  throw  him  up  and 
catch  him  in  y'r  mouth  !  Oust  him — shouldher  him  out  of  the  way  ! 
Show  spirit,  me  lad  !     Cut  in  between  them  !  " 

"  I  have  to  attend  to  my  hounds,"  said  the  Master  of 
Beagles,  with  the  manner  of  one  who  directed  the  destinies  of  the 
Pytchley  or  the  Quorn. 

"  You'll  have  all  your  married  life  before  you  to  demonstrate 
upon  them,"  argued  his  would-be  father-in-law.  "  Leave  them  be 
temporarily.  Huggins,  your  whip,  will  cast  and  yoick  if  your 
attentions  to  Nora  keep  you  lagging.  For  this  season  you've  but 
the  one  hare  to  hunt,  and  that's  my  daughter,  bad  scran  to  her 
obstinate  sowl !  " 

Mr.  Burkington  still  looked  doubtful.  The  old  gentleman's 
parchmenty  face  took  on  a  flush  of  exasperation. 

**  See  here — you  !  "  he  cried,  wrathfully,  "  must  I  in  my  sixty- 
sixth  gouty  year  come  on  me  old  shooting  pony  to  show  you  that's 
health  and  strength  and  full  nourishment  how  to  bridle  a  filly  that's 
yours  for  the  asking?  She's  mine,  and  now  I've  said  she's  yours! 
Go  you  and  take  her.  And  if  any  red-jacketed  stick  of  an  Army 
captain  stands  between  you,  inlo  the  first  ditch  with  him !  I've 
given  you  the  sole  right  to  the  girl's  company.     Keep  it !  " 

The  Army  captain's  rival  nodded. 

**  There's  a  good  deal  in  what  you  say,"  he  admitted.  **  You'll 
impress  this — this  arrangement  upon  Miss  Nora?  " 

**  I'll  impress  that  and  a  birch-rod  on  her  sleek,  deceptive 
skin  !  "  declared  the  irate  parent,  **  if  she  so  much  as  squeaks  under 
your  hand.  But  do  you  do  your  own  part  with  the  hardest  heart 
in  you.  Stick  to  her — cling  to  her,  me  lad,  and  if  by  March  she 
isn't  Mrs.  Burkington,  I'll  eat  every  hare  you'll  have  caught,  skin 
and  teeih  !  " 

Mr.  Burkington's  lips  relaxed  into  smiles.  As  one  who  seals  a 
bargain,  he  suddenly  shook  his  Mentor  by  the  hand. 

itt  *  *  *  Ht 

The  little  beagles  tailed  out  across  country  with  shrill  melodies 
of  joy  which  demonstrated  that  scent  lay  warm.  They  had  found 
early,  in  an  unlikely  spot,  and  after  many  misgivings  on  the  part  of 

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the  field   that  sport  would  dally.     But  luck  had  been  with    them 

The  pack  had  not  frittered  away  its  energies  in  useless  ^^^^c^uvrin^s 

for  a  find.       A  stout  old  jack  hare  had    sprung  up     almost    under 

their  noses   in   a  sedgy  pasture,  and  was  scudding  across  the  open 

towards  the  distant  moorland  as  straight  as  a  dart.       For  the  first 

three  fields  the  hounds  had  run  in  view.     Now  their  noses  were  well 

to  the  ground,  but  on  a  scent  which — as  old  Larry  Pike,  the  MoyJe 

Hunt  earthstopper,  was  wont  to  express  it — "  rose  and  shtruck  thim 

in  the  eyeball." 

The  field  was  long  and  straggling.  Tim  Huggins,  the  whip, 
pranced  gaily  at  the  tail  of  the  hounds,  taking  the  ditches  with 
springing  leaps  which  none  but  a  born  bog-trotter  could  emulate. 
A  little  behind  him  came  a  resolute  line  of  boys,  ardent  sportsmen 
every  one,  running  with  breathless  jealousy,  each  with  his  own  pet 
theory  of  a  likely  line,  but  each  with  an  inquisitive  glint  of  the  eye 
towards  any  neighbour  who  showed  signs  of  improving  on  it.  Back 
of  these  again  ran  one  or  two  striplings  of  slightly  maturer  years, 
panting  more  than  their  younger  rivals,  but  wearing  down  by 
degrees  into  their  second  wind,  and  covering  the  ground  with  long 
and  regular  strides  which  spoke  of  experience  as  much  as  ardour. 
In  an  irregular  patch  followed  the  main  body  of  the  field. 

There  were  several  girls  among  the  followers — bright  com- 
plexioned,  grey-eyed  daughters  of  Erin,  each  with  an  attendant  train 
of  cavaliers.  It  was  noticeable  that  of  these  Miss  Nora  O'Connor 
held  the  largest  court. 

A  detachment  of  subalterns  and  a  junior  captain  or  two  from 
Moyle  barracks  made  up  a  majority  of  it,  but  among  these  dapper 
youths  Mr.  Burkington's  massive  form  was  bulking  largely.  He  ran 
doggedly  at  Miss  O'Connor's  shoulder,  towering  over  her  like  a 
battleship  over  a  sloop.  The  military  cruisers — to  complete  the 
metaphor — invariably  found  the  wind  taken  out  of  their  sails  if  they 
attempted  to  run  alongside.  Now  and  again  Miss  Nora  looked  up 
at  him  curiously.  The  Master  was  displaying  the  agility  of  one  ot 
his  own  hares.  Several  times  she  endeavoured  to  disembarrass 
herself  of  his  proximity,  but  turn  and  twist  as  she  would  he 
invariably  kept  within  armsbreadth  of  her.  He  made  no  remark — 
he  never  tried  to  emulate  the  breathless  repartees  which  the  young 
warriors  exchanged — he  reserved  the  powers  of  his  lungs  for  the 
business  of  running.     But  he  was  there. 

Suddenly  the  full  chorus  from  the  hounds  died  to  a  whimper. 
The  runners  looked  up  gratefully  to  recognise  a  check.  The  pack 
went  feathering  across  a  pasture  under  Tim's  able  directions,  cast- 
ing for  the  line.  Miss  O'Connor  mopped  her  brow  and  dropped 
into  a  stroll. 

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**  Praise  Heaven  for  thai !  "  she  ejaculated,  piously.  She  looked 
up  at  Burkington  again.  ** Won't  you  be  giving  them  a  cast?*' 
she  inquired. 

The  young  man  eyed  his  pack  indifferently. 

*'  ril  not  improve  on  Huggins's  line,"  he  answered,  and  stood 
watching  the  feathering  sterns  without  enthusiasm.  He  remained 
steadfastly  at  his  captivator's  side. 

She  turned  and  raised  her  eyebrows  ever  so  slightly  at  the 
young  man  who  had  been  sharing  the  duties  of  escort  with  Bur- 
kington. He  stood  as  near  her  on  the  right  as  her  other  admirer 
did  on  the  left.  She  had  a  comically  bewildered  air  as  she  gazed 
at  him. 

He  smiled  back.  He  was  a  tall,  bronzed,  supple-looking  man 
of  about  eight  or  nine  and  twenty,  and  he  and  Miss  Nora  contem- 
plated each  other  with  every  sign  of  mutual  satisfaction. 

**Ah,  me!  "  she  deplored  suddenly,  "they've  hit  it  off— they'll 
be  running  for  Hennessy's  Flat.  I'll  not  be  able  to  keep  the  line 
any  longer.  I'll  make  a  cut  for  the  bridge  below  Shan's  Paddock, 
and  with  luck  catch  up  to  you  there." 

**  Now — now.  Miss  Nora  !  "  objected  one  of  the  youngsters, 
**  with  your  limbs  and  talents  you've  no  call  to  run  cunning.  And 
'tis  as  likely  as  the  next  thing  that  she'll  make  another  swerve  and 
evade  you  and  y'r  cut  entirely." 

One  of  his  companions  pinched  his  arm  and  frowned.  A  sudden 
look  of  intelligence  pervaded  the  youngster's  features.  He  sidled 
off  with  his  friend.  **  Sure,  I  forgot,"  he  apologised  under  his 
breath.     **  'Tis  not  the  hare  she'll  be  after  catchin*." 

By  twos  and  threes  the  little  crowd  took  up  the  running  and 
followed  the  disappearing  pack.     Gaisford  stayed  where  he  was. 

**  Yours  is  a  wise  decision.  Miss  O'Connor,"  he  remarked, 
**  but  there  is  a  good  deal  of  water  out  in  the  river  meadows  below 
Shan's.  If  you'll  permit  me  I'll  be  your  guide  in  avoiding  it.  The 
old  sheep  lane  will  be  our  way,  won't  it  ?  "  he  added,  turning  to 
Burkington,  who  still  stood  doggedly  at  his  elbow. 

A  frown  was  creasing  the  Master's  fat  face.     He  hesitated. 

**  Ay,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I'll  show  it  you." 

The  other  two  made  a  simultaneous  protest. 

**0h,  we  couldn't  possibly  take  j'ow  away,"  they  began;  but 
their  unsolicited  guide  interrupted  grimly. 

**  Oh,  but  you  could/'  he  affirmed,  resolutely.     **  Pm  coming.'* 

They  looked  at  him  blankly — they  made  several  somewhat 
incoherent  protests.  Mr.  Burkington  answered  with  no  more  than 
monosyllables  or  silence,  and  began  to  lead  the  way  towards  the 
sheep  lane.     They  toiled  up   it   at  his   heels,   exchanging  glances 

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which  pictured  wrath,  surprise,  and  i  musement,  as  different  points  of 
view  in  their  companion's  conduct  suggested  themselves.  He,  on 
his  part,  offered  no  further  explanation  of  this  sudden  desertion  of 
his  pack  than  a  still  more  aggressive  proximity  to  his  lady-love. 

They  had  passed  out  of  the  lane,  crossed  the  bridge,  and 
reached  the  Moyle  high  road,  when  Miss  O'Connor  complained  of 
weariness.  No  sign  of  hounds  had  rewarded  their  attempt  to  cut 
in,  and  without  the  goad  of  excitement  she  explained  that  her 
energies  weakened.  She  looked  up  hopefully  as  the  sound  of 
wheels  drew  attention  to  a  pony-cart  which  was  trotting  down 
the  road. 

**  Is  it  you  yourself,  Flitty  Boyle !  "  she  addressed  the  driver,  a 
dark-eyed,  clean-shaved  youth  who  touched  his  hat  to  her  with 
great  respect.  "  Would  it  be  within  the  powers  of  the  good  cob 
there  to  give  me  a  lift  on  the  way  home  ?  " 

**  'Twud  be  iverlastin'  honour  to  me  poor  contrapshun  of  a  car, 
miss,  if  you'll  enthrust  y'rsilf  to  me,''  said  the  man,  grinning  cheer- 
fully. '*  Sure,  I'll  have  ivry  plisure  in  life  in  takin'  the  whole  three 
of  ye." 

Miss  O'Connor  shook  her  head  hastily. 

*'  No,  no,"  she  dissented.  **  I'd  not  allow  any  such  cruelty  to 
your  little  nag.  Besides,  Mr.  Burkington  and  Captain  Gaisford 
will  be  only  too  glad  to  be  rid  of  me.  They  want  to  find  hounds 

Gaisford's  face  showed  a  trace  of  astonishment — almost  annoy- 
ance. Then  it  suddenly  cleared  into  intelligence.  As  she  passed 
close  to  him  to  mount  upon  the  step  of  the  car.  Miss  O'Connor  had 
covertly  pressed  a  small  object — her  empty  purse,  to  be  explicit — 
into  his  hand. 

Mr.  Burkington  stood  with  his  mouth  open,  the  picture  of 
indecision.  She  seated  herself  and  made  an  impartial  farewell  to 
both  with  a  very  pretty  smile.  Flitty  flourished  his  whip  and 
brought  it  down  smartly  upon  the  pony's  back.  The  car  went  off 
at  a  gallop,  leaving  the  two  men  staring  after  it  with  envious  eyes. 

They  turned  at  last  to  scan  the  country  for  the  vanished  hunt. 
Suddenly  Gaisford  heard  his  own  name  called  in  distinct  but  dulcet 

A  couple  of  hundred  yards  away  the  car  had  stopped.  Miss 
Nora  was  waving  energetically.  "I've  forgotten  my  purse '."she 
shrilled,  and  Gaisford  made  a  melodramatic  gesture  of  self-reproach. 

**  How  forgetful  of  me  !  "  he  cried.  **  She  gave  it  me  to  carry 
for  fear  she  should  lose  it !  " 

He  darted  down  the  road  holding  the  missing  piece  of  property 
conspicuously  in  his  hand.     Mr.  Burkington   sullenly  awaited  his 

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return.     Gaisford  held  out  the  purse.     Miss  Nora  took  it  with  a 
demure  smile  of  thanks. 

"Captain  Gaisford/'  sl.e  remarked,  "  FHtty  here  thinks  the 
pony  could  manage  one  more  conveniently." 

**  Without  cruelty  ?  "  grinned  the  Captain,  and  upon  the  word 
leaped  up  and  perched  behind  her.  Again  the  whip  descended  upon 
the  little  nag's  flanks. 

There  was  a  shout  from  behind.  The  Master  of  Beagles  had 
broken  into  a  hand  gallop  and  was  pursuing  frantically  down  the 
road,  making  a  sporting  attempt  to  win  a  race  in  which  the  odds 
against  him  were  something  like  a  bank  to  a  button.  Gaisford 
waved  him  a  cheery  hand;  but  Miss  O'Connor,  in  view  of  subse- 
quent explanations,  forebore  to  look  round.  The  distance  increased. 
In  a  little  while  even  the  semblance  of  pursuit  was  given  up. 
Mr.  Burkington  stood  panting,  a  dark  blot  upon  the  dusty  highway, 
while  the  lovers  drove  on  in  pleasant  converse  with  the  grinning 
Flitty.  They  were  dropped  five  miles  further  down  the  road  at  the 
back  of  the  coverts  which  fringed  the  O'Connor  demesne. 
«  «  #  ♦  « 

"  It's  been  worth  it,"  remarked  Miss  Nora  half  an  hour  later, 
**but  they'll  never  forgive  it  me.  Father  or  Phineas — the  one  or 
the  other  of  them — will  never  let  me  out  of  their  sight  after  this." 

Gaisford  smiled  confidently. 

"  It  all  comes  round  to  what  I've  tried  to  persuade  you  of  a 
hundred  times,  my  darling,"  he  said.  **  In  blunt  English,  you've 
got  to  elope  with  me — there's  no  other  way  out  of  it." 

"Must  I  now?"  said  the  girl,  with  dancing  eyes.  "It's  easy 
talked  of,  but  not  so  easy  done.  I'll  be  under  the  eyes  of  the  pair  of 
them  every  hour  of  the  day." 

"Just  look  the  situation  squarely  in  the  face,"  urged  her  lover. 
"  Do  you  want  to  marry  Phineas  Burkington  ?  " 

"I'd  sooner  take  in  washing  for  my  living,"  said  Miss  O'Connor, 
with  great  decision. 

"And  you've  no  insuperable  objections  to  marrying  me?  " 

"  For  the  moment  I  can't  recall  them,"  allowed  Nora.  "  But 
how  ?     That's  the  question." 

"  It's  as  easy  as  kissing,"  said  Gaisford,  illustrating  his  remark 
with  warmth  and  conviction.  "  We'll  be  married  in  Moyle  ps^nsh 
church  in  the  light  of  the  open  day.  Jim  Lascelles,  the  vicar,  has 
been  my  pal  since  schooldays.  The  barracks  are  in  his  parish,  so 
I'm  a  parishioner.  A  special  licence  and  his  affection  for  me  are  all 
the  goads  he  needs,  and  he'll  keep  a  shut  mouth  about  it  till  it's 

Miss  O'Connor's  eyes  opened  very  wide  indeed. 

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**  And  how  am  I  going  to  get  to  Moyle  parish  church  without  a 
*  Yes '  or  a  *  No  '  or  a  *  By  your  leave  '  from  my  father  ?  "  she  asked. 
** What  will  I  say  at  all — *  Excuse  me,  dad,  for  half  an  hour;  I've 
just  remembered  I've  got  to  run  into  Moyle  to  be  married  to  Jack 

Gaisford  grinned. 

**  Not  quite  that,"  he  agreed.  **  It's  not  by  leave  of  your  father 
at  all  that  you'll  get  the  chance,  but  by  the  goodwill  of  Tim 

If  the  girl  had  shown  amazement  before,  her  emotions  on  hear- 
ing this  remark  can  only  be  described  as  stupefaction. 

"  Tim  Huggins — Phineas's  whip  ?  "  she  cried. 

**  There's  no  other  Tim  Huggins,"  said  Gaisford,  **  and  he,  I'm 
glad  to  say,  is  my  very  good  friend.  He'll  arrange  it — under  my 
supervision — so  that  you'll  have  no  fuss,  no  trouble,  no  explanation 
of  any  kind.  All  you  have  got  to  do  is  to  attend  next  Monday's 
meet  of  the  Beagles.  It's  at  Allonby.  You'll  get  a  straight  run 
away  to  the  river — a  four-mile  point — and  very  likely  without  a 
check.     The  hare  will  cross  the  river,  and  there's  no  bridge." 

His  lady-love  stared  at  him  as  if  he  had  gone  suddenly  daft. 

**  My  dear  boy,"  she  deprecated,  "  are  you  dreaming  or  wander- 
ing, or  what  ?  "Who  are  you  to  5ay  how  and  where  and  whence 
next  Monday's  run  is  going  to  take  place.  Have  you  trained  your 
private  hare  and  put  him  in  Tim  Huggins's  bag  ?  " 

'*  I'm  prophesying,"  said  Gaisford,  with  a  laugh,  "but  I'm  on  a 
certainty.  I  had  the  luck  to  pick  Huggins's  youngest  out  of  that 
same  river  when  she  fell  in,  in  flood  time,  last  March,  and  her  father 
would  do  more  than  I'm  going  to  ask  him  to  do,  out  of  gratitude. 
It's  all  quite  simple.  The  run  will  end  at  the  river  bank,  and  the 
river  will  pound  the  hunt.  There's  no  bridge,  as  I  impressed  on 
you  before." 

A  sudden  gleam  of  intelligence  lit  Miss  O'Connor's  features. 

**  And  no  boat  ?"  she  inquired,  meditatively. 

Gaisford  nodded. 

*'  One,"  he  said.     **  Mine." 


A  strange  procession  was  passing  across  the  fields  from  Allonby 
towards  the  marshland  and  the  river  in  the  small  hours  of  Monday 
morning.  Huggins  led  by  a  string  an  object  which  seemed  to  have 
all  the  agility  of  a  grasshopper  and  the  elasticity  of  an  indiarubber 
ball.  Flitty  Boyle,  walking  a  yard  or  two  to  the  rear,  stirred  up  the 
unwilling  captive  whenever  it  substituted  passive  resistance  for 
active,  admonishing  it  with  an  ash  rod  or  the  toe  of  his  dilapidated 
boot  as  circumstances  seemed  to  advise.     The  deep  dusk,  which  is 

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deepest  just  before  dawn,  shrouded  both  escort  and  prisoner,  and 
a  passer-by,  if  there  had  been  one  at  that  hour,  would  have  been 
puzzled  to  discover  the  details  of  what  was  toward.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  it  was  an  extremely  robust  jack  hare  which  the  whip  was 
tugging  by  a  cord  wound  round  the  unfortunate  animal's  neck  and 
withers,  and  which  Flitty  goaded  from  behind. 

"Ah,  get  along  wid  ye — get  along!'*  expostulated  Flitty, 
thrusting  at  the  hare  as  it  turned  a  complete  somersault  after  an 
energetic  effort  to  tie  its  tether  into  a  true-lover's  knot.  "  'Tis 
possessed  the  cratur  is — as  full  of  its  fal-las  as  a — a  gymnasium ! 
What  for  will  ye  not  walk  demurely  wid  two  gintlemin  that's 
expandin*  wid  nothin'  but  kindness  towards  ye?  " 

"  'Tis  poor  atin'  he'll  be,"  said  Tim,  tugging  remorselessly  at 
the  cord.  **  His  blood  will  be  that  fevered  and  his  muscle  that 
drawn !  I'll  let  him  loose  to  recover  himself  when  the  line's  once 
laid.  There  won't  be  enough  sound  mate  on  him  to  feed  a  chickun  ! 
Howiver — he's  spreadin'  the  scent  like  a  water  cart." 

'*  He  is  so,"  agreed  his  colleague.  **  'Tis  time  we  were  thinkin' 
of  the  first  check.  We've  come  a  full  mile,  or  the  best  part  of 

Tim  nodded.  With  a  turn  of  the  wrist  he  suddenly  jerked  the 
animal  towards  him  and  grasped  it  in  his  arms.  Holding  it  tight 
he  walked  solemnly  across  the  pasture  for  a  hundred  yards  or  more 
before  he  released  it. 

"  That'll  give  us  all  a  breather,"  he  remarked,  as  he  set  it  down 
again.  **  I'll  not  make  me  cast  this  way  till  I  see  Miss  Nora  gettin' 
her  own  breath  back  again.  Come  you  now!  We'll  give  them  a 
touch  of  deep  goin'  in  Packy  McKeough's  potato  patch.  Be  this 
and  be  that  !  'tis  the  most  artistic  run  they'll  be  havin'  laid  out  be 
a  master  hand,  though  'tis  mesilf  that  declares  it !  " 

From  these  fragments  of  conversation  it  will  be  seen  that 
Gaisford's  plan  was  in  full  process  of  foundation.  Mr.  Huggins's 
gratitude  had  not  been  worked  on  in  vain.  He  and  his  bosom 
friend  the  knacker  were  leading  a  line  across  country  for  the  subse- 
quent benefit  of  the  beagles,  and  were  using  no  half  measures  to 
ensure  success  to  their  undertaking.  By  slow  and  dogged  degrees 
the  procession  proceeded  upon  its  way,  the  hare's  terror  gradually 
fading  into  apathy,  and  its  acrobatic  performances  deteriorating 
sadly  in  its  fatigue.  Other  artistically  placed  checks  were 
engineered,  and  the  hare,  instead  of  resisting,  lay  inert  in  Tim's 
arms,  worn  with  its  emotions.  Pasture,  plough,  and  moorland 
were  each  in  turn  insinuated  deftly  into  the  trail,  till  at  last  men 
and  hare  brought  their  arduous  duties  to  a  close  upon  the  banks  of 
the  Lycke,  the  well-known  salmon-infested  river,  which  has  given 

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the  town  of  Moyle  more  importance  in  the  eyes  of  the  outside  world 
than  its  citizens  altogether  appreciate.  It  was  in  full  spate,  foaming 
a  fathom  deep  between  its  clay  banks,  its  waters  touching  pollards 
and  thickets  which  were  generally  far  back  from  its  encroachments. 
The  two  men  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  as  they  sank  upon  con- 
venient boulders  and  instinctively  fingered  in  their  vest  pockets  for 
pipes.  The  hare  panted  in  a  comatose  state  at  their  feet.  For  a 
few  minutes  they  smoked  restfully  without  moving  or  speaking. 
Then  Flitty  rose.     He  beckoned  his  companion  forward. 

The  two  sidled  along  the  bank  for  a  few  yards  till  they  reached 
a  clump  of  brambles  at  the  water's  edge.  Within  its  recesses  lay 
a  coracle,  the  tiny  wicker  skiff  which  the  professional  fishers  use. 

"  There  'tis,'*  said  Flitty,  tersely  ;  **  and  do  you,  Tim  Huggins, 
disthract  ivrybody's  attintions  from  prying  in  this  direction  by  any 
manes  short  of  assassinatin'  thim.  When  once  the  captin*s  got  her 
launched,  and  Miss  Nora  in  it — why  thin,  let  thim  swim  who  will." 
**  And  they'll  not  be  many,"  said  Mr.  Huggins,  significantly,  as 
he  strolled  back  to  his  captive  and  resumed  charge  of  the  cord  which 
he  had  tied  to  a  tree.  '*  The  water's  as  cold  as  Miss  Nora's  silf 
when  Phineas  is  passagin'  about  her,  and  you'll  not  find  much  that's 
colder.  I'll  carry  this  unfortunit  baste  a  furlong  down  the  bank  and 
let  it  deliver  itsilf  where  it  will.  Sure  it's  had  its  Purgathory,  the 
cratur ;  let  it  make  its  own  Paradise." 

«  «  *  41  4» 

The  Allonby  meet  had  proved  an  early  success.  The  usual  tuft- 
flicking  and  bush-punching  which  precedes  a  run  from  a  moorland 
find  had  been  short  enough.  Huggins,  as  he  made  a  wide  beat  to 
circle  the  gorse  which  edged  the  moor,  was  suddenly  heard  to  holloa 
loudly  ;  the  next  instant  his  battered  cap  was  whirled  aloft  upon  his 
stick,  while  the  whimper  of  the  hounds  swelled  from  doubt  into  full- 
throated  certainty.  Young  men  and  maidens  drew  their  elbows 
down  to  their  sides  and  set  their  caps  firmly  upon  their  heads.  At 
a  swinging  trot  the  field  followed  the  whip,  who  was  already 
bounding  over  a  dyke  at  the  far  side  of  an  arable  enclosure. 

The  Master  did  not  lead  his  field.  If  the  previous  week  he  had 
closely  accompanied  Miss  O'Connor,  on  this  present  occasion  he 
could  only  be  described  as  shadowing  her.  Step  by  step  he  dogged 
her  twinkling  heels,  turning  as  she  turned,  slowing  as  she  slowed, 
sprinting  as  she  sprinted.  And  in  the  background,  **  unstiffening 
his  limbs  and  easing  the  cob's  wind,"  as  he  expressed  it,  trotted 
Mr.  Connor  O'Connor  on  horseback,  watching  his  daughter  with 
grim  determination.  The  young  lady's  self-appointed  directors  had 
evidently  been  more  than  a  little  alarmed  by  the  previous  week's 
escapade,  and  were  taking  no  chances.    Each  of  them  had  addressed 

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the  blackest  of  black  looks  to  the  imperturbable  Gaisford  when  be 
and  half  a  dozen  of  his  colleagues  had  turned  up  in  due  course  from 

The  captain  had  shown  no  signs  of  being  impressed  by  the  want 
of  cordiality  extended  to  him.  He  had  wished  the  Master  and  his 
desired  father-in-law  good  morning  with  unabashed  good  humour, 
and  had  offered  Miss  Nora  a  bow  and  a  smile  which  she  very  natu- 
rally acknowledged.  But  he  had  not  pressed  into  her  company.  In- 
deed, the  find  had  come  so  quick  upon  the  meet  that  the  usual  few 
minutes*  dalliance,  which  as  a  rule  accompanies  all  such  encounters 
of  young  men  and  maidens,  had  been  lacking.  Everybody  jostled 
forward  at  best  pace — one  which  left  little  enough  breath  for 

The  well-manufactureJ  check  came  in  its  appointed  place.  Miss 
0*Connor  threw  herself  down  upon  a  dyke  and  fanned  herself 
violently,  expressing  her  conviction  that  one  more  minute  of  such 
going  would  have  seen  her  a  purple-visaged  corpse.  Mr.  O'Con- 
nor *s  cob  whistled  like  a  blackbird.  Mr.  Burkington  paced  up  and 
down  before  his  charmer  pantingly;  want  of  wind,  ho^^ever,  not 
depriving  him  of  one  wrinkle  of  his  aspect  of  determination.  Hug- 
gins  seemed  to  make  his  casts  somewhat  perfunctorily,  casting  an 
eye  at  the  group  as  if  he  waited  more  for  the  convenience  of  his  field 
than  to  the  mere  chance  of  the  hour.  As  Miss  Nora  stood  up,  and 
found  breath  enough  to  offer  a  remark  to  her  nearest  neighbour, 
Huggins  strode  away  with  an  air  of  satisfaction.  The  next  minute 
his  holloa  apprised  them  that  the  scent  had  been  taken  up  in  Mc- 
Keough's  potato  patch.  With  feet  that  gradually  assumed  elephan- 
tine proportions  as  the  heavy  soil  clung  to  them,  the  runners 
proceeded  upon  their  way. 

About  an  hour  had  gone  by.  There  had  been  another  check  or 
two.  Nearly  four  miles  had  been  covered.  Suddenly  Gaisford 
supplied  a  note  of  tragedy  to  dilute  the  morning's  cheerfulness. 
Crossing  a  dyke  he  stumbled,  and  fell  with  his  foot  doubled  under 
him.  There  were  many  offers  of  assistance,  but  none  from  Messrs. 
Burkington  or  O'Connor,  when  it  seemed  that  the  gallant  captain 
had  slightly  sprained  his  ankle.  Large  grins,  indeed,  suffused  these 
gentlemen's  faces,  and  Miss  Nora's  father  relentlessly  prevented  her 
stopping  to  offer  more  sympathy  than  could  be  compressed  into 
three  words  and  shouted  from  a  distance.  Doggedly  he  and  Bur- 
kington urged  her  on.  Not  that  the  sufferer  permitted  anyone  to 
lose  sport  by  staying  with  him.  The  hurt  was  a  mere  nothing,  he 
declared,  and  he  could  limp  after  them  quite  easily  and  take  up 
running  again  when  the  first  bruised  stiffness  had  gone  out  of  the 

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And  so  the  whole  field  passed  on.     Gaisford  watched  them  out 

of  sight  round  a  convenient  spinney  and  then  took  to  his  heels  and 

sprinted  across  country,  following  a  course  parallel  to  the  one  they 

had  taken.     As  a  recovery,  this  incident  came  positively  near  to  the 

miraculous.     As  a  side  light  on  the  deceits  practised  by  the  military 

profession  it  has  other  aspects. 

Meanwhile  the  field  had  come  full  stop  upon  the  brim  of  the 
foaming  Lycke,  gazing  blankly  at  its  turbid  floods.  A  rich,  full- 
brogued  voice  hailed  them  from  the  opposite  side.  Flitty  Boyle 
was  to  be  seen  waving  an  excited  hand  from  the  seat  of  his  car. 

"  'Tis  right  over,  swimmin*  like  an  allygaytar,  the  baste  came  !  " 
he  declared.  *'  He's  gone  down  the  Moyle  road,  drippin'  and  layin' 
the  dust  like  a  sprinklin'  cart !  " 

The  breathless  hunt  looked  disconsolately  at  him.  There  was 
no  bridge  within  five  miles. 

'*  Where  will  we  find  a  boat,  Flitty  ?  "  cried  the  whip.  The 
knacker  stood  up  and  pointed  eagerly  down  the  river  to  the 

"There  should  be  one  at  Duveen's  house,  Mr.  Burkington, 
y*r  honnour,  sorr.  If  Mr.  O'Connor  wud  take  it  upon  him  to  give  a 
canter  down  and  see,  *twud  perhaps  save  the  bulk  of  you  a  useless 
matter  of  manoeuvring." 

Old  O'Connor  looked  round.  Gaisford  had  disappeared  and 
Mr.  Burkington  still  maintained  his  rigid  proximity  to  Miss  Nora. 
He  gave  a  nod  and  flicked  his  nag.  In  another  minute  he  was  out 
of  sight. 

Muggins  was  kneeling  twenty  or  thirty  yards  away,  examining 
one  of  the  hounds  which  he  held  upon  its  back  between  his  knees. 
He  called  to  the  Master. 

**  Wud  you  come  here,  sorr  ?  I  mislike  the  look  of  Fanciful's 
foot.     She's  limpin'  sadly." 

Burkington  made  an  impulsive  step  forward,  and  then  hesitated. 
Nora  O'Connor  held  her  breath. 

He  stared  round  him.  Gaisford  was  not  in  sight  and  the  girl 
was  standing  beside  the  water,  idly  watching  the  eddies.  He  stepped 
quickly  towards  Tim  and  stooped  over  the  hound. 

Nora  edged  a  pace  or  two  up  stream.  Burkington's  broad  back 
was  towards  her,  and  his  gaze  fixed  upon  the  pad  between  his  fingers. 
Silentl}',  quickly  she  glided  behind  an  intervening  bush  and  fled 
through  the  pollards  to  the  left. 

A  minute  later  Burkington  dropped  the  dog's  limb,  expressing 
the  opinion  that  nothing  ailed  it  except  the  application  of  his  whip's 
too  easily  roused  misgivings.  Something  splashed  on  the  surface  of 
the  stream. 

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A  coracle  had  shot  out  from  the  bushes  on  the  left,  skimming 
across  the  ripples  towards  the  opposite  shore, 

Burkington  stared  at  it  in  incredulous  wrath. 
Whatever  injury  Gaisford  might  have  experienced  to  his  foot, 
his  arms  were  certainly  in  the  best  of  trim.     He  was  working  the 
paddles  most  lustily.     Nora  O'Connor,  kneeling  and  facing  him,  was 
wearing  a  smile  of  demure  satisfaction. 

Burkington  lifted  his  arm  and  shook  his  fist  at  them. 
**  Come  back  !  "  he  demanded,  imperiously.     "Come  back  this 
very  instant !  " 

Miss  Nora  raised  her  eyebrows. 

**  There's  no  room  for  more  than  two  at  a  time,  Mr.  Burkington," 
she  answered,  with  mild  surprise;  "but  if  you'll  put  hounds  to  me 
ril  get  them  on  the  line.     Make  them  swim  it." 
Burkington  danced  with  rage. 

''You'll  be  sorry  for  this,  you — you  hussey  !  "  he  cried,  as  the 
coracle  grounded  against  the  far  bank.      "  Your    father   will   take 
satisfaction  from  you  if  he  has  to  do  it  with  a  stick  !  " 
Miss  O'Connor  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  think  you  hardly  know  what  you're  saying,"  she  deprecated, 
and  turned  to  Flitty,  who  beamed  upon  her  graciously. 

**  If  you're  on  the  way  to  Moyle,  perhaps  you'd  give  me  a  cast 
so  far  in  your  trap  ?  "  she  asked. 
Flitty  gave  a  duck  and  a  smirk. 

•*With  ivry  plisure  in  life,  miss,"  said  he.  "Give  me  y'r  hand 
an'  I'll  drag  ye  up." 

He  suited  the  action  to  the  word. 
Gaisford  looked  solemnly  at  his  watch. 

*'  Sorry  I've  no  time  to  bring  the  boat  to  ferry  the  lot  of  you," 
he  informed  the  grinning  field.  "  Tve  an  important  engagement  in 
Moyle  myself." 

Burkington  poured  forth  a  flood  of  imprecation.     **  You — you 

scoundrel !  "  he  roared.      "  I'll  have  the  law  of  you— I'll— I'll " 

His  rage  made  him  inarticulate.     He  spluttered  incoherently. 
Gaisford  nodded. 

*' You'll  tell  me  all  about  it  next  time,"  he  answered,  genially. 
"  Right  away,  Flitty !  " 

He  skipped  up  and  occupied  the  same  seat  which  he  had  used 
to  such  advantage  the  week  before.  The  whip  fell  upon  the  pony's 
back.  Flitty,  his  trap,  and  his  friends  flew  off  down  the  road  in  a 
cloud  of  dust.  As  they  disappeared  round  a  distant  corner  Miss 
O'Connor's  handkerchief  was  seen  to  flutter  over  her  shoulder  in 
ironical  farewell. 

For  an  instant  Burkington  made  a  motion  as  if  he  would  throw 

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off  his  coat.  He  looked  at  the  surging  ripples  and  hesitated.  He 
was  a  poor  swimmer  at  the  best  of  times,  and  what  sort  of  pursuit 
he  could  make  upon  his  own  feet  with  his  clothes  sogging  full  of 
water,  even  if  he  gained  the  opposite  side  in  safety,  was  hard  to  tell. 
He  relinquished  his  notion,  and  instead  began  to  run  furiously 
in  the  direction  which  Mr.  O'Connor  had  taken  five  minutes  before. 
With  the  sporting  instinct  that  the  end  of  this  run,  at  any  rate, 
should  not  escape  them,  the  field  followed  valiantly. 

Half  an  hour  later  Mr.  O'Connor  turned  in  great  amazement 
from  superintending  a  temporary  caulk  of  Pat  Duveen*s  very  leaky 
punt,  to  see  the  whole  hunt — minus  his  daughter — sweep  into  the 
boatyard  and  confront  him. 

It  was  another  five  minutes  before  he  gathered  the  true  inward- 
ness of  the  situation,  so  rabid  were  Phineas*s  denunciations.  But 
when  he  understood  the  many  explanations  which  everybody  seemed 
anxious  to  supply,  he  fairly  emulated  the  Master  of  Beagles'  fury. 
He  seized  upon  tow  and  mallet  and  hammered  and  caulked  like  one 
possessed.  His  anathemas  were  brilliantly  inventive  ;  his  energy 

In  spite  of  both  another  twenty  minutes  went  by  before  the 
most  reckless  adventurer  present  suggested  that  a  launch  was 
possible,  and  even  then  Mr.  Burkington  eyed  the  gaping  seams 
askance.  But  the  old  gentleman  was  beyond  the  restraints  of  mere 
prudence.  He  hustled  his  cob  and  his  would-be  son-in-law  aboard. 
Pat  Duveen  took  the  pole,  and  leaned  forward  to  shove  off. 
Suddenly  he  paused,  and,  like  all  the  others  present,  turned  his  eyes 
in  the  direction  of  the  town.  A  sort  of  incredulous  hush  fell  upon 
the  assembly.  It  was  followed  by  an  instinctive  shout  of  amaze- 
ment, of  glee,  and  of  unrestrained  laughter. 

The  wind  was  fair  from  Moyle,  and  gleefully  upon  the  gusts  rang 
out  the  peal  of  wedding  bells  ! 

HO.  cxxvi.     VOL.  xxiu— January  1906 

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A   DAY     IN     OUR    ELK     FOREST 

BY    SIR    HENRY    SETON-KARR,    C.M.G.,    M.P. 

Having  made  a  bad  start  at  Langletet,  we  determined  to  go  up  to 
the  hut  and  the  soeter.  By  Langletet  I  mean  Johan  Bergan's  house, 
which  is  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Gula  River,  and  a  mile  or  so  distant 
from  Langletet  railway  station.  Beyond  a  saw-mill  and  a  farmhouse 
or  two  I  have  never  yet  discovered  any  approach  to  a  town,  or  even  a 
village,  at  Langletet.  The  post-office  is  at  the  station,  and  there  is 
not  even  a  grocery  store  or  a  blacksmith's  shop  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. Johan's  house,  reached  by  ferry  over  the  river  in  the  usual 
leaky  Norwegian  boat,  is  supposed  to  be  the  centre  of  our  elk 
forest.  But  it  takes  a  young  and  very  active  man  adequately  to 
hunt  from  that  centre  even  the  smaller  half  of  the  100,000  acres  or 
so  of  pine-forest,  birch-scrub,  and  fjeld  which  we  rent  from  the 
Norwegian  Government,  and  on  which  we  have  a  right  to  kill  a 
stated  number  of  elk. 

We  had  been  at  Johan's  house  two  days,  and  so  far  had  done 
nothing.  The  first  was  an  ideal  day  for  driving  the  hills  above 
Langletet,  fine  and  warm,  with  the  lightest  of  easterly  breezes  (all 
the  bad  weather  here  comes  from  north  and  west),  the  right 
direction  for  this  particular  drive.  But  a  perverse  fate  impelled  us 
instead  to  hunt  with  the  men  and  dogs  in  leash,  my  son  M.  in  Laerdal, 
I  to  the  south,  and  neither  of  us  got  a  shot.  M.  and  Peder  found 
the  tracks  of  a  good  bull,  and  followed  him  for  miles  to  and  fro 
through  thick  pine-woods,  seeking  in  vain  for  a  sight  of  the  great 
black  hairy  side  at  which  to  shoot.     Occasionally  they  were  close 

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A    DAY    IN    OUR    ELK    FOREST  g^ 

to  him,  but  the  bull  was  never  seen.      Ivor  and  I  wandered  through 
miles  of  forest  on  the  south  end,  jumped  a  cow,  but  saw  no  bull. 

Next  day  we  drove  the  Langletet  woods,  and  of  course  the 
wind  had  changed  to  a  wrong  airt.  But  the  drive  had  been 
arranged  overnight,  the  men  secured,  and  with  insular  obstinacy  we 
determined  to  carry  it  out.  The  men  swept  some  miles  of  our 
thickest  woods  round  the  precipitous  shoulder  of  a  hill  to  the  edge 
of  the  Laerdal  Canyon,  where  the  rifles  sat.  An  open  marsh,  a 
mile  or  so  long,  protected  our  left,  and  it  was  commonly  supposed 
that  elk  did  not  cross  the  Laerdal  Canyon  on  the  right  at  this  point, 
though    I    have  my  doubts  on  the  subject.     Men  can,  with  infinite 


labour,  slide  down  one  side  of  the  canyon,  wade  the  stream  at  the 
bottom,  and  clamber  on  all  fours  up  the  other  side,  hanging  on  to 
trees  and  rocks  in  the  process ;  and  I  have  yet  to  find  the  ground  in 
Norway  where  a  man  can  go  (even  the  long-legged  active  Johan) 
and  an  elk  cannot,  if  pushed  to  it.  Anyway,  the  drive  was  an 
absolute  failure,  though  two  years  ago  I  had  killed  a  48-inch  head  in 
this  same  drive.  M.  and  I  sat  on  the  side  of  the  wind  and  put  Ivor 
back  and  down  in  the  canyon,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Not  an  elk 
was  seen.  It  was  unthinkable  that  there  were  no  good  bulls  in 
the  drive.  There  is  always  a  good  bull  somewhere  on  this  steep 
and  thickly  wooded  ridge.      But    he   had  obviously    declined  even 

F  2 

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to  cross  the  wind  for  any  distance.  My  experience  is  that  it  is 
as  difficult  to  drive  an  elk  as  it  is  to  hunt  a  fox  for  any  distance 
otherwhere  than  down-wind.  It  is  the  old  woodland  instinct, 
inherited  by  the  elk  from  generations  of  wolf-hunted  ancestors, 
never  to  give  your  pursuers  a  chance  of  getting  your  wind.  Some 
cows  broke  back,  of  course,  and  after  lunch,  going  casually  up 
the  Laerdal  Valley,  on  a  round  way  home,  we  unexpectedly 
jumped  a  young  bull,  who  nearly  galloped  over  us  while  the  men 
were  carrying  our  rifles.  We  did  not  want  his  head,  of  course : 
it  was  too  small.  But  the  men  wanted  meat,  and  there  was  no 
doubt  that  that  particular  bull,  at  that  particular  moment,  might 
have  got  hurt  but  for  the  fact  that  the  men  had  our  rifles. 

So,  as  I  say,  things  having  gone  somewhat  agley,  we  deter- 
mined next  day  to  go  further  afield,  I  to  the  hut,  and  M.  to 
the  soeter.  The  hut  and  the  soeter  are  eight  miles  apart,  and  a 
rifle  domiciled  at  each  can  stalk  and  hunt  ground  inaccessible  to 
ordinary  mortals  (who  want  to  sleep  at  home  at  night  in  comfort) 
from  Langletet. 

M.  took  John  the  chef  with  him,  and  Peder  the  hunter, 
with  his  dog  Passup.  Also  Johan  and  Ole  with  two  horses 
carrying  luggage  and  stores.  Quite  a  retinue,  in  fact.  Of  his 
visit  to  the  soeter  it  is  sufficient  here  to  chronicle  that  he  killed 
his  first  bull-elk  on  the  following  day,  a  fair-sized  beast  enough  : 
also  saw  three  good  bulls  the  next  day,  none  of  which  he  got ; 
and  finally,  two  days  after,  followed  for  many  hours  and  miles  a 
fine  bull  carrying  a  42-inch  19-point  head,  which  he  eventually  ran 
into  and  killed  late  in  the  evening  on  his  way  home  to  Langletet. 

The  point  of  this  story,  however,  is  to  relate  the  events  of 
one  particular  day  with  which  Ivor,  myself,  and  another  big 
bull-elk  are  mainly  concerned. 

I  also  had  a  modest  retinue  with  me  at  the  hut — to  wit,  Ivor 
and  his  dog  Rover,  the  fair-haired  Carrie  as  chef-de-cuisine,  and 
sundry  horses  and  men  for  the  luggage.  On  the  way  up  to  the 
hut  Ivor  and  I  managed  very  successfully  to  give  our  wind  to  a 
big  bull,  whom  we  presently  saw  in  the  far  distance  down  the 
valley,  making  record  time — accompanied  by  his  mistress,  an 
exceedingly  active  young  cow — for  the  thickest  woods  in  Laerdal 
Canyon.  The  annoying  part  of  it  was  that  Carrie,  an  hour 
ahead  of  us,  had  walked  past  this  very  bull  on  the  way  to  the 
hut,  watched  him  with  interest  as  he  gazed  upon  her  within 
eighty  yards  or  so,  had  admired  his  horns  and  great  bulk,  and 
then  told  us  all  about  him  afterwards.  The  bull  evidently 
knew  a  thing  or  two.  **  Han  stor  og  saa  lang  paa  mig  "  ("  He  stood 
and  looked  long  at  me  "),  said  Carrie  to  us  that  evening.     As  I 

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A    DAY     IN    OUR    ELK    FOREST  85 

looked  at  the  fair  young  face  of  the  Norwegian  lassie,  glowing 
with  health  and  innocence,  the  conduct  of  the  bull  in  question 
appeared  to  me  most  natural,  and  only  what  one  would  have 
expected.  The  bull  had  scorned  to  run  away  from  a  petticoat, 
but  as  a  matter  of  caution,  I  suppose,  had  removed  himself  and 
party,  namely,  his  cow  and  her  calf,  to  a  thick  wood  adjoining, 
under  the  shoulder  of  the  fjeld,  where  the  wind  blew  all  ways. 
There  he  subsequently  became  aware  of  the  approach  of  Ivor, 
Rover,  and  myself,  before  we  saw  him,  and  promptly  left  the 
neighbourhood,  without  giving  us  the  chance  of  a  shot. 

Next    morning  Ivor  came  hurriedly  into  my  bedroom  at  7  a.m. 
to  say  he  saw  elk.     I    went    out    in    my    pyjamas,  and    from    the 


back  door    of   the    hut    two    cow-elk    were   plainly    visible  grazing  j| 

on    the    open    fjeld,   just    above    the    birch-wood,    not    500    yards  If 

away,    across   a    thickly-wooded    valley.       A    careful    examination  I 

through  my  glasses  showed    one  of   the  cows  to  be    a  very  large,  ? 

obviously    old,    and    even    dissipated-looking   elk.     I  went    to   bed  J 

again,    much    to    Ivor's  disgust,  and  later  on  had  a  blank  day  in  * 

the  forest  so  far  as  shootable  bulls  were  concerned.  **( 

That  evening  our  party  was  reinforced  by  the    active   Johan,  |i 
who  brought  news  of  M.'s  first  bull.     Next    morning    I  was  again 

awakened    by  the  men  to    look  at  the  same  two  cow-elk    grazing  H 


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in  the  same  spot.  These  elk  had  evidently  spent  the  previous 
day  in  the  thick  birch-wood  adjoining. 

Then  I  succumbed  to  the  insidious  temptation  to  kill  that 
old  cow,  instigated  thereto  by  Johan  and  Ivor.  I  had  hitherto 
sternly  declined  to  molest  cow-elk.  But  the  case  in  favour  of  now 
breaking  this  rule  was  put  thus  by  our  local  casuists  : 

The  forest  was  full  of  old  cow-elk,  too  many  in  fact,  and  they 
wanted  thinning  down.  This  particular  cow  was  obviously  far  too 
old  ever  to  have  another  calf,  and  was  therefore  a  mere  cumberer  of 
the  ground.  She  was,  moreover,  large  and  fat,  her  meat  was  most 
desirable,  and  nothing  could  be  more  handy  for  the  larder  than  to 
kill  her  close  to  the  hut.     On  the  other  hand,  if  spared,  she  would 


merely  grow  older  and  more  useless  every  year.  It  was  therefore 
much  better  to  kill  her  than  a  young  bull,  for  example,  who,  if  spared, 
would  naturally  grow  into  a  larger  bull. 

As  I  had  been  roused  out  of  bed  two  mornings  in  succession  to 
look  at  the  same  old  cow,  and  felt  inclined  for  some  early  morning 
exercise,  the  men's  logic  prevailed.  I  put  on  shooting  boots  and 
coat,  seized  my  rifle,  slid  down  into  the  thick  woods  below  the  hut, 
and  crawled  up  the  far  side  of  the  valley.  A  gallery  consisting  of 
Carrie,  Ivor,  Johan,  and  Ole  of  the  baggage  train,  watched  the  whole 
proceeding  from  the  door  of  the  hut.  Of  course  the  two  elk  had 
lain  down  in  the  birch-scrub  while  I  was  crossing  the  valley  ;  equally 
of  course  I  scared  them  coming  up  the  hill;  but  they  rashly  stood 

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A    DAY    IN    OUR    ELK    FOREST  87 

for  a  few  moments  on  the  sky-line,  gave  me  opportunity  for  a  quick 
shoulder-shot  at  150  yards  before  they  disappeared,  and  a  chorus  of 
yells  from  the  gallery  informed  me  of  the  fact  that  the  old  cow  had 
fallen  dead  a  hundred  yards  further  on,  shot  through  the  heart.  So 
I  returned  to  bath  and  breakfast  while  the  men  butchered  the  elk. 

But  this  was  merely  the  opening  episode  of  what  proved  for 
me  a  red-letter  day  in  our  forest.  I  had  not  yet  had  a  shot  at  a 
good  bull  this  season,  and  the  morning  and  early  afternoon  were 
spent  in  two  small  drives  by  Ivor  on  the  other  side  of  the  valley,  I 
vainly  hoping  to  intercept  any  bull  he  might  perchance  move.  The 
^^-eather  was  too  calm  and  still  for  successful  hunting  with  the  dog 
in  the  thick  forest.   The  second  of  the  two  drives  terminated  in  good 


news.  Ivor  returned  hastily,  before  half  his  round  was  completed, 
to  say  he  had  seen  a  big  bull  in  the  birch-wood  on  the  higher  fjeld. 
Here,  then,  was  the  chance  for  the  quiet  stalk  that  I  had  long  been 
hoping  for.  So  far  we  had  not  seen  any  good  bull  out  of  the  thick 

Half  an  hour  later  I  was  lying  on  a  ridge  with  Ivor  spying  the 
birch-scrub  where  last  he  had  seen  the  bull.  Presently,  yes,  there 
was  an  elk  moving  in  a  patch  of  scrub  half  a  mile  away.     Between  | 

him  and  us  was  a  comparatively  open  valley  running  down  from  the  I 

high  fjeld.     The  only  way  to  get  across  unseen  was  to  ascend  the  ^ 

back  of  the  ridge  on  which  we  were  lying.     I  left  Ivor,[and  proceeded 


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to  undertake  the  stalk  alone,  the  light  breeze  then  blowing  up  the 
valley.  As  I  ascended  the  ridge — confident,  if  all  went  well,  of 
a  fairly  easy  stalk — suddenly  the  wind  changed,  and  blew  down  from 
the  fjeld.  This  altered  the  whole  situation.  I  could  not  now 
ascend  and  come  on  to  the  bull  from  above  and  behind.  He  would 
inevitably  get  my  wind.  I  crawled  to  the  ridge  and  looked  over. 
Presently,  through  my  glass,  I  saw  the  bull  and  a  cow  come  out  of 
the  patch  of  scrub  and  move  slowly  along  the  face  of  the  hill  towards 
the  thicker  woods  beyond.  Then  for  the  first  time  I  saw  him  well. 
What  a  fine  brute  he  was,  and  what  a  grand  head  he  carried !  My 
cow  of  the  morning  was  a  mere  calf  in  comparison  to  his  lordly  bulk. 

UP    THE    GULA     TO    THE     ELK    FOREST 

and  his  wide-spread  shovel  horns  formed  a  trophy  I  most  ardently 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  a  prolonged  crawl  over  the  sky-line 
through  a  slight  hollow  in  the  ridge  and  then  downhill,  with  a  single 
birch-tree  between  the  elk  and  myself.  At  length,  what  a  relief  it 
was  to  stand  upright  in  the  hollow  below,  in  the  semblance  of  a  man 
and  not  of  a  reptile  !  The  bull  was  restless  and  moving  onwards  all 
the  time.  His  companion,  a  young  and  apparently  frivolous  cow, 
fed  on  continuously  without  thought  of  danger.  But  her  lord  and 
master  was  evidently  love-sick  and  uneasy,  and  kept  hustling  her 
along.  I  proceeded  across  the  hollow,  sheltered  by  a  friendly  ridge, 
bent  and  panting,  over  a  wide  marsh,  round  a  friendly  shoulder,  and. 

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A    DAY    IN    OUK    ELK    FOREST  8g 

tu  my  disappointment,  saw  the  bull  was  still  moving  towards  the 
shelter  of  the  thick  forest,  and  was  now  a  long  shot  away  from  a  ridg'e 
200  yards  ahead,  whence  I  hoped  to  take  the  shot.  I  could  just  see 
the  bull's  horns  in  some  birch-scrub  200  yards  beyond  the  ridge  in 
question.  It  was  a  case  of  now  or  never:  of  a  rapid  forward  move 
to  get  along  shot,  or  perchance  to  lose  my  opportunity.  For  the 
evening  was  drawing  on,  and  if  once  the  bull  reached  the  thick 
woods  a  quiet  shot  was  unlikely. 

I  bent  double  and  covered  the  200  yards  to  the  ridge  as  quickly 
as  quiet  progress  would  allow,  and  crawled  up  the  slope  to  find  that 
the  bull  had  gone  on  another  100  yards,  had  come  out  of  the  birch- 
scrub,  and  was  gazing  back  in  my  direction.  Half-way  up  the  slope 
I  drew  a  bead  on  his  broad  shoulder,  now  over  300  yards  away.  The 
position  was  bad  and  I  could  not  align  my  rifle  as  I  wished.    Another 


crawl  of  five  yards,  my  heart  in  my  mouth.  On  the  summit  of  the 
ridge  I  got  the  position  I  wanted,  drew  a  full  bead  right  on  the  top  of 
his  back — the  shot  was  uphill  as  well  as  long  in  distance — and  pressed 
the  trigger.  As  the  smoke  of  my  500  black-powder  Express  cleared 
away   I  saw  the  bull  galloping  madly  down  the  hill.     He  vanished  & 

round  the  corner  and  disappeared  in  the  birch-scrub  as  I  gave  him  M 

a  snapshot  from  my  second  barrel.     Then  all  was  still.     Ivor,  on  .> 

the  skyline  half  a  mile  away,  had  no  doubt  seen  the  shot,  and  possibly  * 

the  sequel.  P 

So   I  followed  on  the  tracks  of  the  bull,  nervously  afraid  of  the  k 

result.     The  chances  of  the  shot  were  great.     I  could  easily  have  (« 

miscalculated  the  distance  and  fired  under  or  over.  Also  the  slightest 
deviation  to  right  or  left  might  mean  a  miss  or  a  slight  wound  and  a  |^| 

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long,  and  possibly  vain,  stern  chase.  Before  I  had  reached  the  bull's 
tracks,  the  cow  appeared  on  the  skyline  above,  evidently  looking  for 
her  lord  and  master.  This  looked  promising  for  a  kill.  Then,  to 
my  surprise,  came  cheery  yells  from  my  rear.  I  faintly  distinguished 
something  like  **  good  jagt  '*  (good  hunting).  Ivor  was  not  a  demon- 
strative person,  and  he  was  sober  when  I  left  him.  So  I  waited  for 
his  arrival  and  his  tale,  for  I  guessed  he  had  seen  the  bull  fall. 
Presently  he  arrived  within  earshot,  told  me  what  he  had  seen, 
and  we  went  on  some  400  yards  to  find  the  great  bull,  carrying  a 
44-inch  13-point  head  of  great  strength  and  beauty,  lying  stone 
dead  on  the  hillside,  shot  just  in  front  of  the  heart. 

This  is  what  Ivor  had  seen  :  The  bull  had  galloped  madly  for- 
ward through  the  birch-scrub  for  two  or  three  hundred  yards ;  had 
then  reared  up  on  his  hind  legs  and  savagely  attacked  a  solitary 
birch  tree,  smashing  it  to  pieces  with  his  hoofs ;  had  continued  to 
rear  up  till  he  nearly  fell  over  backward ;  had  recovered  himself 
and  galloped  another  hundred  yards  or  so,  and  then  suddenly  run 
round  in  a  circle  and  fallen  stone  dead.  He  was  one  of  the  largest 
bulls,  in  body,  I  have  ever  killed.  Ivor  and  I  could  not  turn  him 
over,  and  it  took  three  horses  and  four  men  to  bring  him  home  on  a 
sleigh  next  day. 

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COMMAND    SPORTS     IN     THE     ARENA    AT    BARODA     ARE     HELD 



In  casting  round  for  an  appropriate  title  for  the  subject-matter  of 

this  article  my  first  intention  was  to   describe  it  as  **  The  Wild 

Sports  of  India."     Reflection,  however,  brought  a  change  of  mind, 

for  whilst  being  wild  in  the  sense  that  they  are  barbarous  survivals  ,; 

of  an  age  of  long  ago,  there  are  also  other  sports  in  India,  which,  i 

though  pursued  from  east  to  west  and  from  Peshawar  in  the  North 

to  Cape  Comorin  in  the  south,  are  not  sports  confined  to  the  arena, 

and  organised  at  any  moment  for  the  edification  and  gratification 

of  native  rulers.     And  following  the  same  line  of  argument  there 

are  one  or  two  arena  sports  which  it  would  be  libellous  to  describe 

as  wild — as,  for  instance,  the  ancient  art  of  wrestling.    One  who  has  •  I 

been  enabled  to  watch  good  native  wrestling  will  surely  regard  it  as  M 

being  less  wild  and  more  scientific  than  the  wrestling  of  our  western  ^ 

civilisation   which    London    is    wont   to    afford.      An    ever-present  *J 

suggestion  of  wildness  must  necessarily  be  associated  with  all  classes 

of  shikar  after  big  game.     The  sportsman  who  has  shot  his  first  ^ 

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nine-  or  ten-foot  bagh  will  not  like  to  think  that  the  tiger  came  to 
fall  under  conditions  opposed  to  a  wild  environment  or  circumstances 
of  danger.  In  like  manner  the  man  who  has  tilted  a  good  stout 
spear  at  a  game  pig  has  experienced  some  of  those  rare  sensations 
that  only  accompany  a  wild  sport.  The  term  "wild'*  is  not  mis- 
used when  applied  to  such  fine  sports  as  big-game  shooting  and 
pig-sticking.  It  is  otherwise  with  the  barbarous  wildness  and  passion 
for  fierce  sensations  such  as  are  induced  by  the  arena  sports  con- 
ducted in  the  capitals  of  certain  native  rulers  in  India.  They 
survive  if  only  to  show,  as  Kipling  once  remarked,  that  East  is 
East  and  West  is  West,  and  *'  never  the  twain  shall  meet.*' 

So  little  is  known  in  England,  and  indeed  outside  of  the  great 
Eastern  dependency,  of  this  striking  phase  of  native  life  that  per- 
haps no  better  excuse  is  necessary  for  attempting  a  pen  picture. 
We  are  reading  a  great  deal  every  day  of  the  scenes  of  Oriental 
splendour  in  the  path  of  the  progress  made  by  the  Prince  and 
Princess  of  Wales ;  of  the  wonderful  homage  of  Maharajahs  and 
chiefs  to  the  British  Raj ;  and  of  the  exceedingly  Oriental  ways  of 
showing  this  loyalty.  Pomp,  pageantry,  and  picturesqueness  are 
allied,  though  they  never  may  be  to  a  greater  extent  than  in  the 
memorable  Delhi  Durbar  of  1903.  When,  therefore,  we  think  of 
such  things,  all  thoughts  of  a  new  order  in  India  are  banished.  A 
truly  Indian  institution  such  as  sports  in  the  arena  will  never 
vanish  so  long  as  such  scenes  continue  to  be  witnessed  as  are  being 
enacted  in  India  at  the  present  time.  And  yet  the  old  order  does 
seem  to  be  changing  in  many  respects.  Maharajahs  are  buying  motor 
cars ;  they  like  them  better  than  gaudily  apparelled  elephants  and 
resplendent  howdahs.  A  few  of  them  are  visiting  Europe,  and  when 
they  return  they  prefer  a  quieter  garb  than  the  blaze  of  gorgeous 
robes  and  costly  jewels.  A  picturesque  characteristic  such  as  the 
sports  in  the  arena  may,  if  this  new  order  continues  to  creep  into 
the  life  of  the  native,  be  doomed.  They  will  at  least  die  hard,  and 
while  they  still  flourish  on  special  occasions  readers  of  this  maga- 
zine may  not  be  altogether  uninterested  in  some  details  concerning 

Instances  are  many,  but  let  us  for  the  moment  turn  from  what 
can  be  offerel  by  the  arenas  at  Hyderabad,  where  the  Nizam's 
tastes  for  sport  are  often  as  sensational  as  they  are  aggressive, 
Jeypur,  the  wonderful  **  pearl "  city  of  the  fine  Rajput  Maharajah, 
Udaipur,  and  a  host  of  other  capitals  of  native  states  that  occur  to 
the  memory,  and  discuss  the  capital  of  the  Gaekwar  of  Baroda. 
Baroda  has  furnished  its  sensations  ere  to-day  in  other  matters  than 
those  of  sport.  The  present  Maharajah,  for  instance,  succeeded  a 
ruler  who  was  the  central  figure  in  a  criminal  trial  on  the  score  that 

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ARENA    SPORTS    IN    INDIA  9^^ 

he  was  allef]^ed  to  have  attempted  to  poison  the  British  Resident. 
The  mind  now  goes  back  to  a  day  not  long  ago  when  the  young 
man  who  will  in  the  ordinary  course  succeed  to  the  f^adi  was 
married.      He  had  been  to  Oxford   University,  and    yet    by  reason 


of  his  position  as  heir  to  the  Gaekwar  Maharajah  he  had  to  banish 
for  the  time  being  memories  of  an  Oxford  life  and  go  through  the 
long  string  of  rites,  solemn  and  rigorous  ceremonial,  and  magnifi- 
cent pomp  of  an  orthodox  Hindu  marriage.  In  a  week  of  festivities 
for  the  entertainment  of  the  Maharajah's  European  guests  and  the 

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edification  of  visiting  potentates,  the  Sirdars  of  State,  and  repre- 
sentatives of  the  people,  not  the  least  important,  and  certainly  not 
the  least  interesting,  were  the  sports  in  the  arena.  What  preceded 
them  had  probably  possessed  a  more  important  significance — the 
ceremonial  processions;  the  Imperial  Service  troops  in  uniforms  of 
striking  colours;  the  elephants  of  State,  bedaubed  and  heavily 
decorated ;  the  two  famous  Baroda  guns,  one  of  solid  gold  mounted 
on  a  carriage  of  silver,  the  other  of  silver  mounted  on  a  gilded 
carriage,  and  the  serried  masses  of  the  people  forming  a  never- 
ending  background  of  motion  and  colour.  Each  of  these  phases  of 
the  festivities  had  its  own  special  attraction  and  served  to  demon- 
strate the  resources  of  the  State;  but  the  sports  in  the  arena  were 
to  show  that  those  old  traditions  which  in  their  own  parallel  are 
suggested  by  the  sports  of  the  old  Romans  still  survived  and  were 
indeed  as  cherished  as  ever.  And  not  a  few  of  the  Maharajah's 
guests  went  to  the  arena  on  the  day  of  which  I  write  in  motor 
cars ! 

The  Maharajah  may  choose  to  be  borne  to  the  arena  on  one  of 
the  state  elephants  or  in  a  carriage  drawn  by  a  smart  pair  of 
English-bred  hackneys.  The  former  is  more  in  keeping  with  what 
is  to  follow,  and  so  you  may  see  him  whom  the  people  salaam  the 
occupant  of  a  roomy,  swaying  howdah,  glittering  with  gold  and 
fashioned  at  either  end  with  designs  in  rampant  figures.  All  that 
you  may  see  of  the  elephant  is  the  head  and  lower  part  of  the  legs. 
The  rest  is  covered  with  a  huge  jhool  of  scarlet  and  gold.  The 
head  is  painted  blue,  and  on  it  is  a  coloured  design  showing,  say, 
a  swan  or  a  leopard,  the  swan  or  the  leopard  being  drawn  so  that 
the  elephant's  eye  becomes  the  eye  of  the  drawing.  How  different 
is  this  stately  beast,  perfectly  trained  and  decorous  in  its  manners, 
from  the  wild  elephants  that  are  so  soon  to  fight  in  the  arena !  Even 
the  very  tail-straps  o(  the  jhool  are  covered  with  golden  bosses. 

You  pass  from  the  main  arteries  of  the  city  to  more  squalid  and 
meaner  streets,  and  skirting  the  old  palace  of  Nazar  Bagh,  where  are 
kept  the  wondrous  Baroda  State  jewels  worth  crores  of  rupees,  you 
suddenly  pass  under  the  shadow  of  a  great  wall.  It  comes  upon 
one  abruptly,  and  might  almost  be  the  guardian  of  some  prison 
inmates.  No  indication  is  afforded  of  what  is  beyond.  A  few  more 
strides  and  the  big  gates  swing  apart.  Now,  surely,  you  are  in  a 
strange  place,  a  sort  of  vast  amphitheatre — a  large  open  space 
walled  in  on  all  sides,  a  few  turret-like  buildings  of  solid  stone 
dotted  about  the  centre,  and  openings  like  doorways  in  the  long 
stretches  of  walls  at  intervals  of  about  twenty  yards  separating 
them.  In  one  corner  of  the  great  arena  is  a  pavilion  built  up  high 
Irom  its  base  with  a  frontage  evidently  intended  to   fulfil  all  the 

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ARENA    SPORTS    IN     INDIA  95 

purposes  of  a  comfortable — and  safe — grand-stand.  Here  already 
are  gathered  many  of  the  Maharajah's  guests,  European  and  native, 
and  soon  the  order  will  be  given  to  let  the  sports  begin.  At  the 
opposite  end  to  that  at  which  you  made  an  entrance  is  also  a  heavy 
gateway,  and  beyond  that,  outside  the  walls,  there  is  evidently 
something  of  importance  attached  to  the  sports.  For  there  is  great 
animation.  The  ringmen  are  moving  with  as  much  hurry  and 
bustle  as  it  is  possible  for  a  native  of  India  to  show ;  the  sense  of 
expectancy  is  quickened  and  every  nerve  set  on  end  by  the  appear- 


ance  of  these  preparations — for  what  ?     Something  revolting  ?     The 

idea  that  something  sensational  is  in  store  is  started  by  the  sight 

of  throngs  of  spearmen.     They  are  for  the  most  part  in  white  cupra^ 

wearing  many-coloured  puggarees,  and  carrying  long,  sharp-pointed 

spears.     We  know  that  elephants  are  to  fight.     Do  they  fight  each  , 

other  or  are  they  opposed  by  a  whole  host  of  humans  ?     Presently  'ij 

we   shall   see;    but   meanwhile   there   are  other   arena  attendants  H 

bearing  what  closely  resemble  large  torches  in  metal  holders.     They  .^ 

have  evidently  not  yet  received   their  cues,  for  they  are  subdued 

and  inactive.  - 

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While  still  the  big  gates — opening  to  we  know  not  what — are 
ajar  and  men  are  coming  and  going  in  swarms,  a  signal  is  given  for 
a  start.  Like  the  circus  at  home,  the  Maharajah's  head  showman 
makes  modest  beginnings,  and  prefers  to  delay  his  "star  turns."  So 
the  stage  carpenters  rush  forth,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  a 
square  ring  has  been  railed  off  in  front  of  the  Maharajah's  stand. 
The  precision  and  speed  with  which  the  rails  are  placed  in  position 
and  fixed  suggest  that  arena  sports  are  not  of  infrequent  occurrence 
at  Baroda.  A  smart  corps  of  British  engineers  or  sappers  would 
have  been  proud  of  the  job.  There  is  some  shrill  shouting — the 
native  must  always  make  a  noise  if  he  is  to  accomplish  anything — 
and  whole  bevies  of  men,  old  and  young,  take  their  places  on  either 
side  of  the  square.  They  wear  the  big  puggaree  with  flowing  ends 
so  characteristic  of  the  Baroda  man.  Soon,  in  different  parts  of 
the  ring,  acrobats,  jugglers,  and  tricksters  of  all  shades  and  grades 
are  at  work.  The  forming  of  pyramids,  excellent  tumbling,  and 
exhausting  somersaults  constitute  the  repertoire  of  the  acrobats, 
and  as  each  troupe  ends  its  turn  the  members  come  to  the  front  of 
the  grand  stand  and  profoundly  salaam  the  Maharajah  and  his 

"  Has  the  burra  sahib  seen  native  wrestlers  at  work?"  queries 
one  of  the  State  dignitaries  ;  and  at  that  moment  a  number  of 
burly  natives  take  their  places  on  either  side  of  the  ring,  each 
squatting  tailor-fashion  until  his  time  arrives.  Then  at  a  word,  or 
at  the  signal  of  the  clapping  of  hands,  two  big  men  strip  to  the  waist 
and  prepare  to  wrestle.  Simultaneously  another  couple  engage 
themselves  at  another  end  of  the  big  square.  One  man,  I  remember, 
was  very  big  and  seemed  to  possess  a  great  deal  more  fat  than 
muscle,  and  yet  he  showed  great  powers  of  endurance  and  secured 
a  fall  after  twenty  minutes'  hard  going.  His  joy  was  a  wonder 
to  behold,  for  had  he  not  won  beneath  the  very  eyes  of  the 
Maharajah?  He  ran  nimbly  to  the  front  of  the  stand,  never 
pausing  for  breath ;  and,  slapping  himself  and  patting  his  forehead, 
he  salaamed  and  fell  prostrate.  1  am  not  able  to  say  whether 
native  wrestling  is  actually  governed  by  a  code  of  rules.  Probably 
it  is,  for  these  wrestlers  in  the  arena  at  Baroda  took  the  business 
seriously  and  seemed  as  cautious  in  defence  as  they  were  aggressive 
in  the  attack.  So  far  as  I  could  judge  their  rules  are  identical 
with  what  is  known  in  England  as  the  catch-as-catch-can  style. 
What  I  wish  to  emphasise  is  that  their  wrestling  was  in  no  way 
incoherent,  but  seemed  to  be  governed  by  intelligent  tactics  and 
sound  laws. 

While  big  men  were  still  giving  each  other  a  gruelling  a  string 
of  fighting  rams  were  led  into  the  arena,  each  between  two  keepers. 

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All  that    had   preceded  their  entry  revealed  little    that  the   average 
Anglo-Indian  was  not  already  familiar  with.    The  appearance  of  the 
rams  was  the  first  sign  that  animals  were  to  fight    on   an  eJaborate 
scale.     They  were  big  and  heavy  enough   for  the    serious    business 
on  hand,    but    they  showed    no    alarming   animation    and   gave  no 
anxiety  to   their    attendants.      They  were   of  the   ordinary    Indian 
species,  possessing  full  broad  foreheads  and  heavy   receding^  horns. 
These  latter  were  so  placed  that  they  could  not  possibly  do  mischief 
in  the  ordinary  process  of  butting.     We  were  soon  to  discover  how 
prehistoric  man  came  to  call  a  ram  a  ram.     Two  were  led  into  the 


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ring,  one  at  either  end,  so  that  they  approached  each  other  diag- 
onally across  the  square.  The  clamour  of  many  tongues  suddenly- 
ceased,  and  two  men,  bearing  a  white  sheet  of  cloth,  advanced  into 
the  centre  of  the  ring  and  held  it  up  so  that  the  rams  could  not  see 
each  other.     Then  at  a  signal  the  sheet  was  swifily  torn  aside — the  *\ 

rams  were  given  their  liberty,  and  seeing  each  other  they  raced  for  ; 

the  centre  with  grimly  lowered  heads.  fSif ' 

One  felt  a  catch  of  the  breath,  a  tightening  at  the  throat,  at  that  Ij^ 

moment.     There  was  no  time  for  thought,  for  when  within   a  few  ,**. 

yards  of  each  other  the  rams  took  a  spring  into  the  air  so  as  to  gain  \ 

impetus  for  the  first  awful  butt.     With  murderous  precision  their  .J 

NO.  cxxvi.    VOL.  WW.— January  1906  ^  ' 


skulls  met  with  a  force  which  sent  up  a  crack  heard  all  over  the 
arena.  I  am  told  this  first  grand  charge  is  usually  the  deciding 
factor — the  knock-out  which  comes  at  the  cutset  instead  of  the  end 
— so  you  may  imagine  the  grim  swiftness  of  this  first  ram  charge. 
Both  staggered  perceptibly,  but  the  heavier  suffered  the  less 
amount  of  recoil,  and  he  returned  to  the  battle.  His  opponent 
was  game  too,  but  if  he  had  not  actually  come  by  a  cracked  skull 
he  must  at  least  have  developed  a  terrible  head-ache.  In  a  few 
brief  moments  the  butting  on  both  sides  grew  weaker,  and  the  ring 
attendants  for  the  first  time  betrayed  any  sentiment  when  they 
separated  the  fighters  and  led  them  away.  And  so  on  through  a 
small  flock  of  burly  rams  until  the  unedifying  business  was  ended. 
One  or  two  of  the  beasts  were  certainly  not  keen  for  fight  after 
engaging  in  that  opening  desperate  ram  at  full  speed,  but  not  a 
single  one  showed  the  white  feather. 

Following  the  lesser  fry  of  four-footed  fighting  beasts  came 
the  buffaloes.  They  were  of  the  species  that  one  might  see  on 
any  city  maidan  in  India,  yielding  milk  or  used  for  ploughing  or 
industrial  purposes.  Surely  this  fat  and  lazy  water  buffalo  was  not 
capable  of  strenuous  fight  ?  But  these  Baroda  buffaloes  soon  banished 
any  doubt  on  the  point.  I  have  no  knowledge  of  what  preparation 
they  are  given  immediately  preceding  arena  sports.  Perhaps  they 
are  doped  !  At  any  rate,  these  beasts  seemed  angry  from  the  first 
moment  of  their  entrance.  The  same  formalities  as  in  the  case  of  the 
rams  were  observed.  They  were  hidden  from  view  by  means  of  the 
white  sheet,  which  may  be  seen  drawn  aside  in  the  illustration, 
and  then,  encouraged  by  yells  and  a  few  sharp  spear-prods,  they 
made  for  each  other  and  angrily  engaged  in  the  first  butt.  Their 
horns  are  long  but  laid  well  back  along  the  slope  of  the  shoulders, 
and  each  strove  hard  to  make  the  best  possible  use  of  them.  The 
hollow,  dull  sound  of  the  butts  was  revolting  enough,  but  it  was 
positively  sickening  to  listen  to  the  crunching  of  the  horns  as  they 
were  torn  and  twisted.  Their  demeanour,  too,  was  far  wilder  than 
that  of  the  rams,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  rails  they  would  have 
carried  the  fight  to  the  limits  of  the  big  arena  and  away  from  the 
Maharajah's  stand.  As  it  was,  one  young  bull  seemed  to  recognise 
an  old  opponent  that  had  thrashed  him  badly  before,  and  felt  that  at 
all  costs  he  must  escape  another  such  punishment.  So  to  the  gaping 
astonishment  of  the  attendants  the  bull  threw  his  weight  at  the 
rails  rather  than  face  the  foe,  and,  breaking  down  a  passage,  he 
galloped  to  the  further  end  of  the  arena  and  refused  to  return. 

Would  the  elephants,  too,  engage  in  wholesale  murder  for  the 
special  delight  of  the  guests  ?  It  was  a  dread  prospect  after 
witnessing  what   damage   the   rams   and   the   buffaloes   could   do. 

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^   arena 


Except    for    hosts    of  spearmen   and    torch-besLirers    th 
emptied.      And  after  a  great  deal  of  shouting    the   form    of  "^*'**  .^^^ 
elephant    suddenly   loomed    into   view   through      one    of    th        ^^^^t 
gateways.       His  fore  legs  were  free,  but  the  hind   legs  were  sh    ^^^^^ 
together,  and   attached  to  the  shackles  were    h  uge,    cruel  w     ^^^^ 
resembling    pincers   in    shape,    with    long    spiked    teeth    of     ^^^^^ 
So  long   as   these  clasped  the  limbs  the  great     fiathi    could         ^^^'* 
dangerous.       A  long   chain    borne  by  attendants   was    fast       a 
the  shackles,  and,  before  giving  him  partial  freedom,  thy?,   a  h      ^^ 


pincers  were  removed.  As  the  chain  shackles  coupling  the  hind 
legs  remained,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  movements  of  the  elephant 
were  still  considerably  restricted ;  but  even  so  he  managed  to 
get  over  the  ground  at  a  surprisingly  fast  pace.  In  like  manner 
a  second  fighting  elephant  was  introduced  to  the  ring,  and  so  the 
two  were  brought  to  blows.  Hut  what  followed  was  certainly  less 
revolting  than  the  fighting  of  the  rams  and  buffaloes.  They  *'  pushed 
and  shoved,*'  charged  with  uplifted  trunks  to  the  accompaniment  of 
sharp  cracking  trumpetings,  and  twisted  each  other  savagely  by  the 

Digitized  by 



trunk;  but,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  there  was  no  serious  damage 
done.  Undoubtedly  this  was  due  to  the  restrictions  of  the  chain- 
fetters  beliind,  and  under  the  circumstances  it  is  reasonable  to  sup- 
pose that  the  big  beasts  did  not  relish  the  fighting.  In  the  case  of 
one  couple  the  attendants  had  hard  work  to  goad  them  even  to  notice 
each  other.  The  means  adopted  were  to  prick  with  the  long  spears, 
or  fire  off  immense  firework  squibs  in  the  metal  torch -bearers. 
Then  it  was  that  we  saw  and  appreciated  the  uses  of  the  openings 
in  the  walls  and  in  the  turret  buildings  about  the  centre ;  for 
occasionally  the  irritated  elephant  would  turn  on  his  persecutor  and 
chase  him.  A  man's  only  chance  of  life  in  such  circumstances  was 
to  vanish  into  an  opening  and  advance  so  far  that  the  elephant  could 
not  reach  him  when  using  the  trunk  as  a  lasso.  At  Hyderabad 
they  allow  elephants  to  fight  with  a  good  stout  wall  between  them, 
but  perhaps  the  Baroda  plan  is  the  more  realistic.  As  a  change 
from  fighting  between  two  elephants,  a  man  on  horseback  would 
enter  the  arena  and  attack  the  elephant  single-handed.  His  business 
was  to  go  so  near  as  to  engage  the  elephant's  attention  and  then 
gallop  out  of  its  reach.  The  business  of  again  securing  them  and 
conducting  them  from  the  arena  is  somewhat  protracted.  A  man 
more  daring  than  the  rest  has  to  watch  his  chance  to  run  behind 
the  elephant  and  place  on  its  legs  the  crippling  pincers.  When 
once  they  are  on  its  movements  seem  paralysed,  and  safe  removal 
then  becomes  a  fairly  easy  matter. 

The  story  of  arena  sports  in  India,  so  far  as  it  applies  to  one 
particular  native  capital,  has  been  told,  and  with  slight  variations 
in  methods,  and  perhaps  also  in  daring,  it  is  the  same  everywhere. 
Whether  they  will  be  out-distanced  and  forgotten  by  the  march  of 
events  and  lime  remains  to  be  seen.  For  our  administration  in 
India  to-day  is  educating  native  rulers  to  a  sense  of  their  duties 
and  responsibilities,  and  those  responsibilities  seem  opposed  to 
the  sports  I  have  attempted  to  describe. 

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Outdoor   Pastimes   of   an    American    Hunter.      By    Theodore 
Roosevelt.     Illustrated.     London  :   Longmans,  Green  &  Qq 

The  proportion  of  big-game  hunters  who  write  about  their 
sport  is  extraordinarily  large— a  fact  that  is  continually  impressed 
on  those  who  are  connected  with  sporting  magazines ;  but  few  of 
them  are  so  good  alike  in  the  field  and  with  the  pen  as  the  energetic 
President  of  the  United  States.  This  book  is  a  record  of  his  out- 
door pastimes  during  the  last  five  years,  and  includes  the  chase  of  the 
cougar,  bear,  wolf,  wapiti,  various  other  deer,  and  sheep.  Enthu- 
siasm and  equanimity  are  notable  points  about  the  President.  "  In 
mid-winter,  hunting  on  horseback  in  the  Rockies  is  apt  to  be  cold 
work,"  he  remarks,  further  noting  that  it  was  eighteen  degrees  below 
zero  when  he  started  on  a  five-weeks'  cougar  hunt  in  North-west 
Colorado,  and  the  deep  snow  shown  in  the  first  photograph  certainly 
does  suggest  chilliness;  but  the  President  evidently  cared  little  for 
the  weather,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  himself.  The  cougar  is  pur- 
sued by  dogs,  and  Mr.  Roosevelt's  description  of  the  pack,  if  so  it 
may  be  called,  is  amusing.  Jim  was  the  most  useful  of  the  lot,  and 
after  him  an  animal  called  Boxer,  who  was  bitten  through  one  of  his 
hind  legs  by  the  first  cougar,  so  that  for  the  remainder  of  the  trip 
he  had  only  three  to  go  on — a  fact  which  did  not  interfere  with  his 
appetite,  his  endurance,  or  his  desire  for  the  chase.  Here  is  a  bit 
of  description:  **  Both  Boxer  and  Jim  had  enormous  appetites. 
Boxer  was  a  small  dog  and  Jim  a  very  large  one,  and  as  the  rela- 
tions of  the  pack  among  themselves  were  those  of  brutal  wild-beast 
selfishness,  Boxer  had  to  eat  very  quickly  if  he  expected  to  get 
anything  when  Jim  was  around.  He  never  ventured  to  fight  Jim, 
but  in  deep-toned  voice  appealed  to  Heaven  against  the  unrighteous- 
ness with  which  he  was  treated ;  and  time  and  again  such  appeal 
caused  me  to  sally  out  and  rescue  his  dinner  from  Jim's  highway 

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robbery.  Once  when  Boxer  was  given  a  biscuit,  which  he  tried  to 
bolt  whole,  Jim  simply  took  his  entire  head  in  his  jaws,  and 
convinced  him  that  be  had  his  choice  of  surrendering  the  biscuit 
or  sharing  its  passage  down  Jim's  capacious  throat.  Boxer  promptly 
gave  up  the  biscuit,  then  lay  on  his  back  and  wailed  in  protest  of 

The  pack  had  many  interesting  peculiarities,  the  author  re- 
marks, the  most  extraordinary  being  that  four  of  them  climbed 
trees.  There  is  a  photograph  of  one  dog,  called  Turk,  who  has 
pursued  a  bobcat  to  what  is  stated  to  be  an  altitude  of  thirty  feet 
above  the  ground.  The  climbers  do  not  seem  to  have  been  by  any 
means  safe  in  the  branches.  A  dog,  indeed,  would  often  lose  his 
footing  and  "come  down  with  a  whack  which  sounded  as  if  he  must 
be  disabled,  but  after  a  growl  and  a  shake  he  would  start  up  the  tree 
again.'*  The  pack  was  certainly  game,  and  so  likewise  were  the 
President's  companions.  One  of  them  had  a  trick  of  seizing  a  wolf 
by  the  lower  jaw,  the  performance  of  which  for  the  first  time  might 
well  make  a  brave  man  hesitate.  Wolves  are  coursed,  and  one  day 
the  quarry  bit  the  greyhound  which  overtook  it.  **  At  the  same 
moment  Abernethy,  who  had  ridden  his  horse  right  on  them  as  they 
struggled,  leapt  off  and  sprang  on  top  of  the  wolf.  He  held  the 
reins  of  the  horse  with  one  hand,  and  thrust  the  other,  with  a 
rapidity  and  precision  even  greater  than  the  rapidity  of  the  wolfs 
snap,  into  the  wolf's  mouth,  jamming  his  hands  down  crosswise 
between  the  jaws,  seizing  the  lower  jaw  and  bending  it  so  that  the 
wolf  could  not  bite  him.  He  had  a  stout  glove  on  his  hand,  but 
this  would  have  been  of  no  avail  whatever  had  he  not  seized  the 
animal  just  as  he  did— that  is,  behind  the  canines  while  his  hand 
pressed  the  lips  against  the  teeth.  With  his  knees  he  kept  the  wolf 
from  using  its  forepaws  to  break  the  hold  until  it  gave  up  struggling. 
When  he  thus  leapt  on  and  captured  this  coyote  it  was  entirely  free, 
the  dog  having  let  go  of  it,  and  he  was  obliged  to  keep  hold  of  the 
reins  of  his  horse  with  one  hand.  I  was  not  twenty  yards  distant  at 
the  time,  and  as  I  leaped  off  the  horse  he  was  sitting  placidly  on  the 
live  wolf,  his  hand  between  its  jaws,  the  greyhound  standing  beside 
him,  and  his  horse  standing  by  as  placid  as  he  was."  The  President 
thinks  this  *'a  remarkable  feat,"  and  there  will  be  few  who  do  not 
agree  with  him. 

Abernethy  threw  the  wolf  across  in  front  of  the  saddle,  still 
holding  it,  then  mounted  and  rode  off.  He  caught  others  in  the 
same  fashion,  and  the  author  notes  the  curious  fact  that  they  never 
strove  to  fight,  seeming  resigned  to  their  fate,  and  looking  about  with 
their  ears  pricked.  A  photograph  is  given  of  Abernethy  holding 
the   wolf,    and   another   with  one  he  caught  subsequently,  alive  in 

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front  of  him  on  his  horse,  a  dead  one  being   fastened   on  behind 
Some  of  the  **  punchers  "  must  also  have  been  extraordinarily  good 
riders.     One  of  them  the   President  noted  on  a  young  and  partially  * 
broken   horse   with   no   bridle,  simply   a   rope   round   the  animal's 

Some  interesting  remarks  are  made  on  a  fact  which  must  have 
struck  many  readers  of  volumes  on  sport :  that  is  the  way  in  which 
birds  and  beasts  often  come  to  be  known  by  the  familiar  titles  of 
creatures  that  they  do  not  resemble.  Unscientific  people  do  not 
like  to  invent  names  if  they  can  by  any  possibility  employ  those 
already  in  use;  thus,  it  is  pointed  out,  the  Americans  "have  no 
distinctive  name  at  all  for  the  group  of  peculiarly  American  game 
birds,  of  which  the  bobwhite  is  the  typical  representative;  when  we 
could  not  use  the  words  quail,  partridge,  or  pheasant,"  Mr.  Roosevelt 
observes,  **  we  went  for  our  terminology  to  the  barnyard,  and  called 
our  fine  grouse  fool-hens,  sage-hens,  and  prairie-chickens.*'  The 
American  true  elk  and  reindeer  were  called  moose  and  caribou,  but 
for  this  there  is  the  excellent  excuse  that  the  names  are  Indian.  In 
South  America  cougars  and  jaguars  are  described  as  lions  and 
tigers,  and,  indeed,  all  over  the  world  similar  confusion  exists. 

Not  the  least  interesting  chapter  is  that  about  wapiti,  which 
the  President  describes  as  **  the  largest  and  stateliest  deer  in  the 
world."  He  is  evidently  a  great  reader,  as  well  as  an  admirable 
writer,  and  one  of  his  chapters  deals  with  "  Books  on  Big  Game," 
which  contains  a  remark  we  cannot  refrain  from  quoting.  **  If  we 
could  choose  but  one  work,"  he  says,  '*  it  would  have  to  be  the 
volume  on  *  Big-Game  Shooting  *  in  the  Badminton  Library." 

Not  only  in  consequence  of  the  distinguished  authorship,  but 
for  its  intrinsic  merit,  the  President's  book  is  one  which  can  on 
no  account  be  omitted  from  any  sporting  librarj^  which  has  the 
least  pretension  to  completeness. 

Jules    of   the   Great   Heart.     By    Laurence    Mott.     London: 
William  Heinemann.     1905. 

This  book  deserves  special  mention  as  one  of  the  most  striking 
and  original  novels  that  has  been  published  for  a  long  time  past. 
The  scene  is  laid  in  the  little-known  region  of  Hudson  Bay. 
The  characters,  new  to  fiction,  as  they  are  here  drawn,  because  of 
their  reaHty,  are  filled  in  with  singular  force,  and  the  author  conveys 
the  impression — few  critics  will  possess  sufficient  knowledge  to 
speak  with  certainty — that  he  is  thoroughly  familiar  with  the 
strange  life  he  depicts.  Jules  is  essentially  a  man,  indomitably 
brave,  self-reliant,  resourceful,  absolutely  honest — a  wonderfully  fine 

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character.  He  is  a  trapper,  what  is  called  a  **  free  trapper"  indeed, 
and  so  a  thorn  in  the  factor's  side,  the  factor  being  superintendent 
of  the  post ;  for  the  honesty  which  has  just  been  mentioned  did  not 
prevent  Jules  from  taking  fur  wherever  he  found  it,  as  he  could  not 
see  that  it  really  belonged  to  the  Hudson  Bay  Company  if  the 
animal  which  grew  it  had  accidentally  diverted  its  steps  from  one 
of  Jules's  traps  to  one  of  the  Company's.  For  this  and  for  other 
reasons  a  great  many  men's  hands  were  against  him  ;  Jules  was, 
indeed,  in  constant  danger  of  his  life,  but  no  one  was  ever  better 
able  to  take  care  of  himself.  Early  in  the  book  he  is  pursued  by 
one  of  his  special  enemies,  Le  Grand  by  name,  and  the  way  in 
which  the  tables  are  turned  is  a  characteristic  adventure.  The 
dialect  employed— a  mixture  of  English  and  French — adds  peculiar 
quaintness  to  the  conversations. 

In  spite  of  his  phenomenal  wariness,  Jules  is  captured  and 
taken  to  the  factor,  who  has  put  a  price  on  his  head.  Jules  believes 
that  his  death  is  inevitable,  and  is  prepared  to  meet  his  fate  with 
Indian  stoicism,  which  so  appeals  to  the  factor  that  his  life  is  spared 
on  condition  that  he  hunts  for  the  Company ;  and  he  accepts  the 
terms,  faithfully  serving  his  masters  until  he  feels  that  he  has  paid 
the  debt.  Jules  has  a  wife  whom  he  tenderly  loves — one  does  not 
understand,  indeed,  why  he  is  separated  from  her  so  long — but 
finally  he  sets  off  with  Le  Grand,  who  has  now  become  his  most 
faithful  friend,  on  a  journey  to  the  place  where  she  is.  Le  Grand 
is  captured,  tortured,  and  killed,  the  murderer  meeting  with  a 
most  hideous  fate  at  the  hands  of  Jules,  the  avenger.  What  that 
fate  is,  and  how,  having  broken  his  leg,  Jules  drags  himself  on 
his  hands  and  one  knee  for  the  last  fifteen  miles  of  his  journey  to 
meet  Marie,  readers  may  be  left  to  discover  for  themselves.  This 
is  essentially  a  book  to  be  read,  and  to  be  remembered. 

Nature  in  Eastern  Norfolk.     By  Arthur  H.  Patterson.     Illus- 
trated.    Methuen  &  Co.,  London.     1905. 

Mr.  Patterson  may  be  described  as  a  born  naturalist,  who,  one 
perceives  from  his  autobiographical  chapter,  could  by  no  possibility 
have  passed  his  life  otherwise  than  he  has  done.  His  father  was  a 
shoemaker  in  humble  circumstances,  and  the  boy  had  to  work  as 
soon  as  he  could  earn  money,  fate  leading  him  to  the  humblest 
position  in  a  chandler's  shop,  the  proprietor  of  which  sold  coals  as 
well  as  tea,  bread,  and  candles.  But  every  hour  the  budding 
chandler  could  seize  for  himself  he  devoted  to  the  living  creatures  in 
the  fields,  hedges,  and  ditches  around  him,  and  the  first  twopence 
he  saved  went  in  the  purchase  of  a  little  paper-covered  book  called 

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BOOKS    ON    SPORT  105 

**  Gleanings  from  Natural  History."  Soon  after  he  came  of  age 
young  Patterson  obtained  a  position  as  supernumerary  postman,  but 
he  had  previously  contributed  to  the  press,  an  article  on  Kingfishers 
having  been  published  by  a  London  daily  paper.  For  a  short  time 
Patterson  seemed  to  have  found  his  true  career,  for  he  was  made 
manager  of  a  small  zoological  gardens  near  Manchester;  but  the 
affair  came  to  grief,  and  returning  to  Yarmouth,  his  native  town,  he 
obtained  employment  as  a  draper's  warehouseman.  From  8  a.m. 
to  8.30  p.m.  he  served  his  master,  but  he  was  up  before  the  house- 
martins  which  were  twittering  with  their  heads  outside  their  doors 
at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  he  stole  forth  to  watch  the  life  of 
the  creatures  he  loved  so  well. 

It  will  readily  be  understood  that  the  observations  of  such  a 
student  as  this  are  worth  the  most  careful  attention.  He  writes  of 
nothing  that  he  has  not  seen,  and  the  conclusions  he  draws  are  not 
derived  from  books — though  he  sometimes  checks  the  statements  of 
other  authors — but  from  the  birds  and  beasts  themselves.  To  a  great 
extent  the  volume  is  a  catalogue,  with  notes  and  comments,  of  the 
birds,  fishes,  mammals,  reptilia,  amphibia,  of  the  country  he  has 
ranged.  What  sort  of  pets  Mr.  Patterson  has  kept  will  be  guessed. 
Otters  have  been  among  the  number,  and  he  says  that  their  disposi- 
tions vary.  One  he  had  was  so  tame  that  it  used  to  run  about  the 
house  and  play  on  the  hearthrug  with  the  children.  He  has  had 
badgers,  too,  but  has  found  them  generally  '*  very  intractable, 
differing  greatly  in  this  respect  from  the  fox  and  the  otter,'* 
creatures  which  are  capable  of  exhibiting  traits  of  strong  affection. 

It  is  rather  curious  to  come  across  a  note  to  the  effect  that  the 
fox  in  1834  was  very  seldom  seen  in  East  Norfolk.  *'  Probably  the 
indigenous  local  race  is  extinct,"  Mr.  Patterson  says,  and  it  is 
thought  worth  special  record  that  one  was  seen  crossing  the  river 
at  Haddiscoe  in  1834.  We  most  cordially  agree  with  Mr.  Pat- 
terson in  thinking  it  a  great  pity  that  gamekeepers  do  not  turn 
their  attention  to  the  destruction  of  rats  rather  than  to  that  of  their 
enemies — stoats,  owls,  etc.  Rats,  as  he  truly  remarks,  will  un- 
doubtedly increase  in  proportion  to  the  extirpation  of  the  Mustelida. 
The  criminal  neglect  which  is  enabling  rats  to  thrive  and  grow 
in  town  and  country  alike  is  a  blunder  for  which  we  shall  all 
have  to  pay. 

HO.  cxxvi.     VOL  xxu.-^Jamufy  1906 


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At  the  present  mcment  multitudes  of  people  are  suffering  from 
perplexity  as  to  what  they  can  give  for  Christmas  and  New  Year's 
gifts.  A  visit  to  the  Royal  School  of  Art  Needlework  should  at  once 
solve  the  difficulty.  The  \Nord  **  art "  in  this  connection  is  not  a 
misnomer,  though  the  productions  of  the  school  are  far  from  being 
limited  to  **  needlework."  That  is  only  one  part  of  the  business,  for 
here  can  be  purchased  antique  pottery,  furniture,  metal  work,  and 
various  other  objects  which  are  precisely  what  the  seeker  after 
Christmas  presents  requires.  Visitors  need  not  fear  that  the  prices 
of  the  articles  are  beyond  the  reach  of  modest  purses  ;  one  can, 
indeed,  spend  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  the  temptation  is  doubtless 
great,  but  there  are  all  sorts  of  cheap  little  things  also. 

*****  * 

Ladies'  clubs  are  a  feature  of  the  period,  and  one  which  should 
prove  avast  comfort  and  convenience  to  residents  in  Kensington  and 
the  vicinity  is  the  Ladies*  Park  Club,  the  premises  being  situated  at 
Wilton  House,  87,  Knightsbridge,  opposite  the  French  Embassy  and 
Albert  Gate.  The  social  position  of  the  committee  and  vice- 
presidents  is  beyond  all  question,  and  affords  a  guarantee  of  the  most 
unimpeachable  character;  but  the  tariff  is  remarkably  low,  a  hot 
luncheon,  for  instance,  being  served  for  is.  Sd  ,  and  a  dinner  of  five 
courses  for  half  a  crown.  The  club  is  intended  to  be  **  quiet  and 
exclusive  without  being  dull  or  dowdy,*'  and  everything  seems  to 
have  been  thought   of  and  provided  for  in  the  carefully  compiled 


ij-  *  *  *  *  * 

Steadily  and  surely  the  motor  as  applied  to  the  water  is  going 
ahead.  The  Marine  Motor  Co.  of  2,  Army  and  Navy  Mansions, 
Victoria  Street,  London,  S.W.,  have  just  completed  some  im- 
portant Government  contracts,  and  are  building  just  now  a  40-foot 
cruiser  for  Mr.  Foster,  of  Bradford,  which  is  to  be  fitted  with  a 
sixty  horse-power  engine.  This  should  certainly  travel  !  They  also 
have  in  hand  an  order  for  a  very  large  paraffin  motor  for  the 
Imperial  Japanese  Government,  for  Japan  is  nowadays  to  the  fore 
in  everything  that  is  new. 

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The  Proprietors  of  the  Badminton  Magazine  offer  a  prize  or  prizes 
to  the  vahie  of  Ten  Guineas  each  month  for  the  best  original  photo- 
graph or  photographs  sent  in  representing  any  sporting  subject. 
Competitors  may  also  send  any  photographs  they  have  by  them  on 
two  conditions  :  that  they  have  been  taken  by  the  sender,  and  that 
they  have  never  been  previously  published.  A  few  lines  explaining 
when  and  where  the  photographs  were  taken  should  accompany 
each  subject.  Residents  in  the  country  who  have  access  to  shooting- 
parties,  or  who  chance  to  be  in  the  neighbourhood  when  hounds  are 
running,  will  doubtless  find  interesting  subjects ;  these  will  also  be 
provided  at  football  or  cricket  matches,  and  wherever  golf,  cycling, 
fishing,  skating,  polo,  or  athletics  are  practised.  Racing  and  steeple- 
chasing,  including  Hunt  Meetings  and  Point-to-point  contests, 
should  also  supply  excellent  material.  Photographs  of  Public  School 
interest  will  be  specially  welcome. 

The  size  of  the  prints,  the  number  of  subjects  sent,  the  date  of 
sending,  the  method  of  toning,  printing,  and  mounting,  are  all 
matters  left  entirely  to  the  competitors. 

The  Proprietors  are  unable  to  return  any  rejected  matter 
except  under  special  circumstances,  and  they  reserve  the  right  of 
using  anything  of  interest  that  may  be  sent  in,  even  if  it  should  not 
receive  a  prize.  They  also  reserve  to  themselves  the  copyright  in 
all  photographs  which  shall  receive  a  prize,  and  it  is  understood  that 
all  photographs  sent  are  offered  on  this  condition. 

The  result  of  the  January  competition  will  be  announced  in  the 
March  issue. 


The  Prize  in  the  November  competition  has  been  divided  among  ij 

the  following  competitors: — Mr.  C.  F.  Shaw,  Nottingham;   Mr.  R.  % 


F.  Smith,   Montreal;    Mr.  John  A.   Douglas,    Montreal;    Mr.    W 

Pfleiderer,   New  Maiden,   Surrey;    Mr.   Robert   W.   Hillcoat,  H.M. 

Transport  Plassy,  Southampton  ;   Mr.  P.  T.  F.  Oyler,  Durie,  Leven,  ^(\ 

N.B.;  Mr.  R.   H.  Martyn,  Cheltenham;   Mr.  R.  W.  Cole,  Bexhill-  .j 

on-Sea  (two  guineas)  ;  and  Mr.  G.  Romdenne,  Brussels.  *] 

H  2  '^ 

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OVER  ! 

Photograph  by  Mr,  C.  F.  Shaw,  Nottingham 


Photograph  by  Mr.  R.  F.  Smith,  Montreal 

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Photograph  by  Mr.  John  Day,  Leicfster 

A    JDMP   OP   TEN    FEET   BY    A    SALMON    ON    THE    MINGAW    RIVER 

Photograph  by  Mr.  John  A.  Dcu^Ias,  Montreal 

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Photograph  hy  Captain   W .  J.   W.  Kerr,  Prestbury  Court,  Gloucestershire 

A    DIVE    FROM    LIFEBOAT   OF    P.    AND   O.    STEAM    YACHT    "  VECTIS  "    IN    FUNCHAL 

Photograph  by  Mr.   \V.  Pfleiderer,  New  Maiden,  Surrey 

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FRIZl::    r(3M  PETITION  iii 


rhifinntiiph  hv  Mr.  .-i .  Smith,   1)2  H2,  Crutchetts  Ramp,  Gibraltar 

OUTWARD    BOUND   WITH    THE    WEST     RIDINGS    (33RD    REGT.)    AND    DETAILS,    OCTOBER    1905 

Pkotograhh  by  Mr.  Robert  \V.  Hillcoat,  H.M.  Transport  "  Plassy,"  Southampton 

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Photograph  by  Mr.  A.  A.  Lucas,  Garden  Court,  Temple 

ON     THE     AIGUILLE     AT     THE     GRANDS     MULETS,     MONT     BLANC 

Photograph  by  Mr,  R.   W,  Stuart,  Brasenose  College,  Oxford 

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START   OF    A    HURDLE    RACE    AT    WORCESTER,    MAY    I905 

Photograph  by  Captain  E.  C.  Jennings,  Royal  Fusiliers,  Peking 


Photograph  by  Mr,  P,  T,  F.  Oyler.  Diirie,  Leveu,  N.B. 

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Photograph  by  Miss  /If.  N.   Waller,  Beenham  Court,  Newbury 


Photograph  by  Mr.  F.  H.  Mutton,  Lincoln 

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Photograph  by  Mr.  R.  H.  Martyn,  Cheltenham 


of  the  Koyal  Sussex  Keglmeni  whi 
ten  I  as  a  sunshade 

Photograph  by  Mr.  /.  M.  Hulton,  2nd  Royal  Sussex  Regiment,  Candia,  Crete 

Pet  donkey  of  a  detachment  of  the  Royal  Sussex  Regiment  which  always  used  the  officers 

tent  as  a  sunshade 

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Photograph  by  Captain   W.  G.  Thompson.  R.H.A.,  Lvcknow 

WATER    POLO — A    CORNER    OF    THE    "FIELD" 

Photograph  by  Mr.  R.    W.  Cole.  Bexhill-on-Sea 

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Photograph  by  Mr.  H.  L.  Hoyle,  Todmontcn 

A    GOOD    JUMP 

Photograph  by  Mr.  G.  Romdenne,  Brussels 

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Photoataph  by  Mr.   ]\\  J.  Abrey,  Tonbridge 


Hhotograph  by  Mr.  C.  E.  Kinahan,  Syth  Royal  Irish  Fusilurs,   Wellington 
Barracks,  Dublin 

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The    Badminton    Magazine 


BY    ALFRED     E.     T.     WATSON 

For  a  great  many  years  past,  I  should  be  inclined  to  say  from  time 
immemorial,  the  name  of  Coventry  has  been  associated  with  sport. 
It  seemed  quite  in  accordance  with  the  eternal  fitness  of  things,  for 
instance,  that  in  the  early  sixties  the  sisters  Emblem  and  Em- 
blematic should  have  carried  off  the  Grand  National  in  the  colours 
of  that  most  respected  of  sportsmen  the  present  Earl,  and  that  his 
name  should  be  recorded  as  a  Master  of  the  Buckhounds.  Pro- 
minent among  hunting  men  in  the  Shires  more  than  a  decade  before 
the  consecutive  Liverpool  victories  was  another  member  of  the 
family,  the  Hon.  Henry  Amelius,  son  of  the  eighth  earl,  whose 
second  son,  Arthur,  was  born  at  Melton  Mowbray  in  1852,  to  prove 
HO.  czxvii.    VOL.  JOLiu—Ftbruary  zgo6  I 

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himself  in  the  course  of  time  in  all  ways  a  most  worthy  representa- 
tive of  the  famous  house. 

I  once  in  conversation  asked  Mr.  Coventry  at  what  age  he  first 
began  to  ride  a  pony,  and  the  question  fairly  puzzled  him,  for  he 
could  not  remember  a  time  when  he  did  not  ride,  or  indeed  when 
he  did  not  hunt.  Another  query  I  inquisitively  put  to  him  was 
what  made  him  take  to  race-riding,  and  this  also  gave  him  serious 
pause,  until  after  a  while  he  hazarded  the  opinion  that  he  "sup- 
posed it  was  natural  instinct,"  which  one  can  well  understand  to 
have  been  the  case. 

As  it  happened,  his  elder  brother,  **  Bee,"  was  one  of  the  finest 
amateur  horsemen  ever  known — indeed,  the  word  "  amateur  "  need 
not  be  employed,  for  Captain  '*  Bee "  Coventry  held  his  own  with 
the  very  best  of  the  professional  horsemen,  and  his  finish  on  Alci- 
biade  for  the  Grand  National  of  1865  was  among  the  most  brilliant 
efforts  in  the  history  of  that  exciting  contest.  Arthur,  rising  four- 
teen at  the  time,  may  well  have  been  inspired,  particularly  seeing 
that  the  family  colours,  as  just  remarked,  had  been  borne  to  victory 
in  the  two  previous  years.  A  desire  to  emulate  the  feats  of  the 
brother  who  was  the  object  of  his  devoted  admiration  could  not 
fail  to  influence  the  boy;  and  so  it  befell  that  at  Croxton  Park 
in  1874  he  wore  silk  for  the  first  time,  a  four-year-old  named  Billy 
Button  having  been  entrusted  to  his  guidance.  Three  months  later, 
at  the  Worcester  Meeting,  he  won  his  first  race,  the  Worcester 
Cup,  5  years,  10 st.  sib.  (carried  10  st.  81b.),  on  Baby  (and  was 
nicknamed  "  Baby "  accordingly),  the  horse,  which  started  at 
100  to  8,  beating  a  red-hot  7  to  4  favourite.  The  Druid,  ridden 
by  R.  Wyatt,  a  short  head.  In  the  year  following  at  Melton 
he  won  his  first  steeplechase  on  a  mare  of  Lord  Carrington's 
called  Amy,  beating  Captain  Riddell,  an  experienced  rider,  to  get 
the  better  of  whom  was  decidedly  a  feather  in  the  young  amateur's 
cap,  especially  as  behind  him  were  such  men  as  Lord  Queensberry 
third.  Captains  W.  Hope-Johnstone  and  **  Doggy  "  Smith,  Col.  Har- 
ford and  Mr.  **  Roily."  It  was  chiefly  in  jump  races  that  Arthur 
Coventry  performed ;  and  though  in  these  early  days  he  does  not 
appear  to  have  stood  out  prominently — for  race-riding  is  a  business 
which  essentially  requires  practice  and  experience — he  was  suffi- 
ciently good  to  be  entrusted  with  the  handling  of  Mr.  Vyner's  Bell- 
ringer  in  the  Grand  National  Hunt  Steeplechase  of  1879.  A  note 
by  the  late  Duke  of  Beaufort  in  the  Badminton  Library  Steeple- 
chase volume  may  here  be  quoted  :  "  The  course  at  Derby,  where  the 
meeting  took  place  that  year,  was  an  extremely  severe  one,  so  much 
so  that  a  protest  against  its  severity  was  made  by  some  of  those 
interested  in  the  event.     Mr.  Arthur  Coventry,  on  being  consulted, 

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I     2 

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declared  it  to  be  in  his  opinion  an  excellent  course,  which  any 
alteration  would  tend  to  destroy ;  and  the  result  proved  that  he,  at 
least,  found  it  suitable.'* 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Tom  Cannon  was  attracted  by  the 
neatness  and  skill  of  which  he  perceived  the  more  than  promise  in 
Mr.  Coventry,  who  on  his  part  had  begun  to  entertain  that  enthu- 
siastic admiration  for  the  great  jockey  which  grew  in  intensity  so 
long  as  he  continued  to  figure  in  the  saddle.  Tom  Cannon  at  this 
time,  1880,  had  bought  a  horse  from  the  late  Sir  John  Astley,  the 
popular  **  Mate,"  called  Timour ;  and  wanting  a  jockey  for  it  at  the 
Bibury  Club  Meeting,  he  asked  Arthur  Coventry  to  ride — this  being 
the  first  of  the  innumerable  occasions  on  which  my  old  friend  wore 
the  scarlet  and  white  hoops  of  the  **  Master  of  Danebury.'*  In  the 
eighties  there  were  probably  more  animals  in  training  at  Danebury 
than  at  any  otlier  establishment,  a  formidable  string  of  jumpers  as 
well  as  flat-race  horses.  It  was  a  delightful  house  to  stay  at,  as  I 
can  record  from  my  own  knowledge,  having  been  privileged  to  be 
a  frequent  guest;  and  on  these  glorious  downs  Arthur  Coventry 
may  be  said  to  have  finished  his  education — there,  that  is  to  say, 
and  at  the  various  meetings  at  which  he  rode  the  horses  he  had 
schooled  and  galloped  at  home.  Winners  were  easier  to  find  in 
those  days  than  they  are  now,  and  if  anyone  wanted  to  know  what 
to  back,  it  was  never  a  bad  thing  to  have  a  few  sovereigns  on 
Mr.  Arthur  Coventry.  It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  there  was 
never  a  question  of  the  Danebury  horses  being  **  out,"  and  when 
Mr.  Coventry  was  in  the  saddle  it  was  perfectly  certain  that  if  the 
animal  were  good  enough  he  would  win  his  race.  A  pleasant  recol- 
lection of  this  period  is  Mr.  Arthur  Coventry  on  old  Hesper,  one  of 
the  very  best  hurdle  jumpers  ever  known,  who,  I  think  it  is  safe 
to  say  without  going  into  tedious  details,  won  more  races  than  he 
lost,  for  the  most  part  with  Mr.  Coventry  up. 

He  did  not  win  one,  indeed,  which  would  have  inflicted  a  serious 
blow  on  a  rash  sportsman  who  had  laid  3^10,000  to  £100  against  the 
horse  securing  the  flat-race  at  Croydon,  the  big  Hurdle  Race  at 
Sandown,  and  the  Lincolnshire  Handicap.  The  first  he  carried  off, 
the  second  likewise  fell  to  him,  and  the  bold  layer  must  have  ex- 
perienced the  severest  qualms  when  he  found  Hesper  with  only 
7  St.  I  lb.  to  carry  a  good  second  favourite  at  7  to  i  for  the  first  big 
handicap  of  the  season.  For  this,  however,  the  son  of  Speculum 
and  Hesperithusa  was  not  good  enough,  the  race  falling  to  the 
Comte  de  Lagrange's  Poulet,  who  beat  Mr.  W.  S.  Crawfurd's 
Master  Waller  a  head,  the  same  owner's  grey,  Buchanan,  third. 

**  Hesper  usually  won,"  Mr.  Coventry  remarked  to  me,  when  I 
asked  him  for  some  details  about  the  horse ;  and  the  Calendar  shows 

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how  well  the  remark  is  justified.  Other  hoops  in  which  the  rider 
distinguished  himself  were  the  primrose  and  rose  of  Lord  Rose- 
bery;  for  on  the  Chester  Cup  winner  of  1882  Arthur  Coventry 
carried  off  several  stakes.  And  another  good  jumper  whom  he  often 
rode  to  victory  was  Beatus. 

It  was  at  the  Manchester  Meeting  of  1882   that     Mr.  Coventry 
made  the  acquaintance  of  this  animal,  having  been    asked    to  ride 
him  in  a  selling  race  with  the  information  that  he  was  rather  shifty 
but  jumped  all  right.     Mr.  Coventry  found  him,  on  the  other  hand 
in  all  respects  a  charming  horse  to  ride,  and  won    so  easily  that 
seeing  he  had   only   10  st.   in    a  good-class   handicap    next   day  he 


said  in  answer  to  inquiries  that  it  was  certainly  well  worth  running. 
In  hard  condition  at  the  time,  10  st.  5  lb.  was  the  lowest  he  could 
do :  and  to  get  off  the  surplus  in  twenty-four  hours  was  a  hard  task. 
But  there  was  a  nice  horse  to  be  ridden,  and  so,  by  walking  hard, 
and  omitting  such  little  luxuries  as  dinner  and  breakfast,  on  the 
smallest  of  saddles  Mr.  Coventry  just  did  the  weight  and  won  his 
race,  easily  beating  Too  Good,  a  notable  Irish  jumper,  ridden  by 
Mr.  H.  Beasley. 

On  one  occasion,  indeed,  Beatus   won   a   race   much    to    Mr. 
Coventry's  chagrin.     This  was  at  Derby  in  1883.     Notwithstanding 

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that  Prudhomme  had  12  st.  10  lb.  to  carry,  he  was  supposed  to  be 
fully  equal  to  the  task,  especially  with  Mr.  Coventry  riding,  and 
the  one  that  seemed  chiefly  to  be  feared  was  Lord  Hastings's  Zeus, 
ridden  by  James  Adams — though  really,  in  sketching  these  little 
chapters  of  Turf  history  behind  the  scenes,  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
ought  to  call  "  James  "  Adams  anything  but  "Jimmy."  Mr.  Arthur 
Coventry  on  Prudhomme,  however,  and  Jimmy  Adams  on  Zeus, 
were  alike  convinced  that  whichever  beat  the  other  would  win  the 
Devonshire  Handicap.  Both  were  masters  of  the  business,  and 
each  set  out  bent  on  pulling  it  ofif  if  possible ;  so,  never  far  apart, 
they  jumped  their  hurdles  and  galloped  over  the  ground  between 
them.  Towards  the  finish  each  was  equally  on  the  alert  to  seize 
that  psychological  moment  when  with  chances  equally  balanced 
races  are  lost  or  won  by,  as  it  were,  a  gleam  of  inspiration.  Which 
endeavoured  to  get  first  run  I  do  not  know ;  but  whilst  the  pair  of 
them  had  all  their  thoughts  and  energies  directed  to  the  question, 
they  suddenly  became  aware  of  the  fact  that  something  full  of  run- 
ning was  flashing  up  on  the  off  side.  It  was  Beatus,  ridden  by  his 
own  boy,  A.  Wood,  and  not  thought  worthy  of  consideration — he 
started  at  100  to  7  offered — but  Wood  understood  the  game  a  bit 
better  than  had  been  supposed.  His  well-timed  run  had  given  him 
the  advantage,  and  he  flashed  past  the  post  a  neck  in  advance 
of  Prudhomme,  who  was  in  turn  a  neck  in  advance  of  Zeus. 
Mr.  Coventry  said  nothing.  "Where  the  devil  did  you  come 
from  ?  *'  was  Jimmy  Adams's  perplexed  inquiry  to  Wood  as  they 
rode  back  to  weigh  in. 

Beatus  was  thought  good  enough  to  win  the  big  hurdle  race  at 
Auteuil,  especially  as  Arthur  Coventry  was  free  to  ride.  The  horse 
stayed  well,  and  Golding,  who  trained  him,  advised  the  rider  to  lay 
well  up  with  the  leaders,  and  to  come  away  two  hurdles  from  home. 
Mr.  Coventry  came  away  much  earlier  in  the  struggle,  notwith- 
standing that  he  was  never  unmindful  of  his  instructions ;  but  after 
winning  by  a  great  many  lengths  he  rode  back  to  the  enclosure  and 
showed  Golding  his  gloves,  torn  into  ribbons,  proof  of  the  fact 
that  he  had  done  his  best  to  hold  the  horse. 

Often  as  Mr.  Coventry  carried  the  scarlet  and  white  hoops  to 
success,  he  sometimes  found  himself  opposed  to  them ;  and  one  of 
these  occasions  was  when  the  late  John  Jones,  father  of  Herbert 
Jones,  the  King's  jockey,  was  up  on  Ubique,  who  was  thought  a 
certainty,  Mr.  Coventry  having  been  asked  to  ride  a  horse  called 
Golden  Beam.  Ubique  was  one  of  a  trio  belonging  to  an  eccentric 
owner  who  had  named  the  horses  for  the  apparent  purpose  of 
puzzling  the  ring.  The  other  two  were  called  Unique  and  Utique. 
To  the  man  of  even  very  modest  education  the  names  presented,  of 

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course,  no  difficulty;  but  it  will  be  perceived  how  easily  such 
nomenclature  led  astray  the  racegoer  whose  scholastic  attainments 
were  wanting.  Unique  was  a  dissyllable,  and  if  Unique  why 
not  "  Ubeek  "  and  "  Uteek  "  ?  It  was  borne  in  upon  the  perplexed 
student  of  the  card,  however,  that  Ubique  was  a  trisyllable  with  the 
accent  on  the  "bi,"and  he  not  unnaturally  failed  to  understand 
why  the  ancient  Romans,  or  whoever  the  idiots  were  who  invented 
this  sort  of  language,  did  not  say  Utlque  with  the  accent  on  the 
"  ti'*;  or  on  the  other  hand,  if  they  wanted  to  knock  the  backer  ofif 
his  balance  by  saying  Utlque,  with  the  accent  on  the  U,  why  they 
did  not  also  say  Ubique  ?  No  one  will  be  very  much  surprised  to  be 
told  that  these  horses  were  often  called  out  of  their  names,  especially 


{Photograph  by  W.  A.  Rouch) 

perhaps  as  running  at  the  same  time  was  a  daughter  of  Exminster 
and  Una,  called  Unice.  This,  however,  is  by  the  way.  Ubique, 
ridden  by  John  Jones,  was  supposed  to  be  a  Danebury  good  thing, 
whilst  Golden  Beam  was  thought  to  have  no  chance,  his  only  backer 
being  Arthur  Coventry's  brother  Aubrey,  who  always  had  a  tenner 
on  Arthur's  mounts,  however  remote  their  chances  appeared  to  be; 
and  on  this  occasion  the  100  to  8  chance  Golden  Beam  just  did 
Ubique  by  a  short  head.  Tom  Cannon's  disappointment  at  being 
beaten  on  his  4  to  i  good  thing  was  mitigated  by  his  pleasure  at 
seeing  his  pupiPs  brilliant  finish.  Nothing  was  said,  but,  meeting 
Mr.  Coventry  on  his  return  to  the  paddock,  heartily  if  silently  Tom 
Cannon  shook  the  winner  by  the  hand.     I  reminded  Mr.  Coventry 

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of  this  story  the  other  day,  and  with  characteristic  modesty  he 
begged  me  to  leave  it  out ;  but  I  am  risking  his  displeasure  in 
relating  the  anecdote,  because  I  think  it  is  a  very  pleasing  little  tale, 
eminently  to  the  credit  of  all  concerned.  I  may  add  here  that 
I  lately  asked  Tom  Cannon  for  details  of  races  at  this  time,  and 
he  winds  up  his  letter  about  his  old  friend  with  the  words,  "  There 
is  nothing  you  can  say  that  is  too  good  for  him." 

It  is  only  the  advertising  tipster  who  knows  for  a  certainty 
what  will  win  every  race  that  is  run — that  is  to  say,  of  course,  if 
one  believes  his  statements,  which  one  may  do  if  sufficiently  lacking 
in  common  sense.  There  was  a  little  tragedy,  for  instance,  when 
Mr.  Coventry  rode  Keepaway  on  one  occasion  for  Lord  Rossmore. 
This  was  by  way  of  being  a  good  thing,  and  the  owner  was  equally 
surprised  and  delighted  to  find  a  bookmaker  willing  to  lay  him  six 
monkeys  against  it.  Keepaway  did  not,  indeed,  stay  for  ever,  but 
he  had  a  nice  turn  of  speed,  and,  with  this  judiciously  saved,  was 
thought  sure  to  win.  Mr.  Coventry-  timed  his  one  run  to  the 
second;  but  Keepaway  swerved  a  little  to  the  right  just  at  the 
moment  when  his  opponent  swerved  to  the  left,  the  consequence 
being  that  Mr.  Coventry  caught  the  other  jockey's  arm,  lost  his 
whip,  one  stroke  of  which  could  not  have  failed  to  land  the  six 
monkeys,  and  so,  momentarily  hampered,  was  beaten  a  head. 

One  of  Mr.  Coventry's  early  successes  was  on  The  Scot  at 
Croydon ;  the  horse,  a  son  of  Blair  Athol,  afterwards  passing  into 
the  possession  of  His  Majesty.  This  was  the  first  animal  that 
Mr.  Coventry  ever  rode  in  the  National,  but  he  failed,  not  being  a 
genuine  stayer,  and  did  no  better  in  the  following  year  when,  ridden 
by  John  Jones,  he  started  first  favourite  at  6  to  i  in  the  race  won 
by  Voluptuary,  who  finished  his  career  on  the  stage  of  Drury  Lane 
Theatre,  where  he  was  in  the  cast  of  a  melodrama  called  The 
Prodigal  Daughter y  and  jumped  two  fences  in  a  representation  of  the 
great  steeplechase,  the  hero  riding  him.  Bellringer,  Mr.  Coventry's 
National  Hunt  Steeplechase  winner,  was  another  of  his  Liverpool 
mounts ;  but  the  horse  was  knocked  over,  as  horses  so  often  are  at 
Aintree.  On  Jolly  Sir  John,  a  representative  of  Danebury,  he  had 
another  essay  in  Zoedone's  year,  and  he  also  rode  Montauban,  for 
Mr.  Baird  Hay,  winner  of  a  large  number  of  races,  but  in  this 
National  he  was  most  emphatically  not  fit.  I  forget  who  trained  the 
horse,  and  may  be  doing  him  an  injustice  in  sharing  a  belief  which 
was  current  at  the  time  that  he  was  disappointed  at  not  having  a 
jockey  of  his  own  selection  in  the  saddle.  Montauban,  however, 
had  certainly  not  done  anything  like  the  work  that  is  imperative  for 
a  National  winner,  and  Mr.  Coventry  discovered  this  when  riding  a 
gallop  a  couple  of  days  before  the  race.    When  they  had  gone  some- 

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thing  less  than  three  miles  the  horse  was  stone  cold,  blowing  hard 

from  want   of  condition,  and   Mr.  Coventry,  pulling  up,   exclaimed 

with  equal  astonishment  and  disappointment,  "Why,  this  horse  is 

not  nearly  fit !  '*     "  Well,  it  can't  be  helped  now,  sir,  can    it  ?  "  was 

all  the  satisfaction  he  got  from  the  trainer. 

His  fifth  and  last  ride  in  the  National  was  on  Redpath  in  1885. 
About  this  time  Mr.  Coventry  was  retiring  from  the  saddle,  but  he 
was,  of  course,  eager  to  win  a  Liverpool  before  he  gave  up.  Tom 
Cannon  was  equally  anxious  to  supply  him  with  the  opportunity, 
and  Redpath,   lost.  3  lb.,  certainly  seemed  to  have  a   tremendous 

PRINCESS    OF    wales'     STAKES 
{Photograph  by  W.  A.  Rouch) 

chance,  notwithstanding  that  20  to  i  was  laid  against  him,  Roque- 
fort being  a  hot  favourite  at  100  to  30,  with  Zoedone  and  Frigate 
well  up  in  the  market.  At  this  time  the  Grand  National  finished 
over  hurdles.  If  it  did  so  nowadays  there  would  be  the  loudest 
outcry  against  the  decadence  of  the  sport,  and  the  most  contemp- 
tuous protests  that  genuine  steeplechase  horses  could  not  be  expected 
to  jump  hurdles  ;  but  one  and  twenty  years  ago  this  was  the  state  of 
the  case,  and  as  the  field  approached  the  penultimate  row  of  sticks 
Redpath  was  going  so  well  that  Mr.  Harry  Beasley,  on  Frigate, 
called  out  to  Mr.  Coventry,  **  You've  won  easily  enough  this  time  !  '* 

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**  It's  not  all  over  yet/*  Mr.  Coventry  replied;  and  immediately 
afterwards  Roquefort  forged  ahead,  Frigate  lasted  on,  and  Redpath 
tiring,  Black  Prince  passed  him  and  finished  third,  Mr.  Coventry 
just  missing  a  place. 

Redpath,  it  may  be  incidentally  observed,  had  the  luck  to  win 
the  Grand  Steeplechase  de  Paris  in  the  following  June.  Roquefort 
was  favourite  for  this,  followed  in  the  market  by  Redpath,  6  to  i, 
and  Prince  Edward,  7  to  i,  the  last  two  being  both  Danebury- 
trained  ;  and  the  betting  was  far  from  representing  their  chances, 
Prince  Edward,  it  was  believed  when  he  left  home,  having  something 
like  21  lb.  the  best  of  it.  He,  however,  fell  in  the  race,  knocking 
Captain  Lee  Barber  out,  and  cutting  his  head  badly,  Redpath  being 
good  enough  to  win  from  a  French  50  to  i  outsider  called  Mon 
Premier,  Chancery,  Mr.  Harry  Beasley  up,  third.  Lowe  rode  the 
winner,  and  it  may  be  remarked  that  at  this  time,  in  contrast  to  the 
present  state  of  the  case,  more  than  half  the  runners  were  English, 
besides  those  mentioned,  Redpath,  Chancery,  Roquefort,  and  Prince 
Edward,  there  being  Hardware  (Count  Kinsky),  Lioness  (Mr.  George 
Lambton),  Captain  (Mr.  D.  Thirlwell),  Kilworth  (Sly),  Donnycarney 
(Hatchett),  and  Buckshot  (Kavanagh) ;  but  this  is  by  the  way. 

On  a  good  fencer  Mr.  Coventry  subscribes  to  the  general 
opinion  that  there  is  no  course  like  Liverpool,  though  it  may  be 
remarked  just  now,  when  the  fences  are  being  prepared  for  the  next 
celebration,  that  many  of  those  chiefly  concerned  strongly  disapprove 
of  the  jumps  being  splashed  up  with  green  twigs,  as  they  have  been 
of  late  years.  The  horses  are  used  to  jumps  of  this  sort  elsewhere, 
so  have  an  idea  that  they  may  chance  them,  brushing  through  the 
tops  as  they  can  with  impunity  on  some  other  courses ;  the  conse- 
quence being  that  they  get  turned  over. 

One  of  the  best  animals  Mr.  Coventry  was  accustomed  to  ride 
under  National  Hunt  rules — we  shall  come  to  flat  racing  presently 
— was  a  mare  called  Boisterous,  owned  by  Tom  Cannon ;  and  for 
the  Metropolitan  Hunters'  Flat  Race  of  1881,  10  sovereigns  each, 
200  added,  at  Sandown,  she  was  certainly  one  of  the  "  best  things 
ever  known  racing " — to  use  the  familiar  phrase.  At  this  time 
Mr.  Coventry  was  winning  a  number  of  stakes  on  a  more  than  use- 
ful horse  called  The  Owl,  belonging  to  Mr.  Harry  Hungerford,  who 
was  then  a  prominent  owner ;  and,  wanting  to  try  Boisterous,  Tom 
Cannon  asked  Mr.  Coventry  if  he  thought  Mr.  Hungerford  would 
lend  them  his  consistent  runner.  The  son  of  Blinkhoolie  and  No 
Name  was  placed  at  Cannon's  disposal,  and  then  the  question  arose 
as  to  the  weights  that  should  be  carried.  If  Boisterous  beat  The 
Owl  at  evens,  would  that,  Tom  Cannon  wanted  to  know,  be  good 
enough  for  the  Sandown  race  ?  and  seeing  that  The  Owl,  carrying 

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13  St.  71b.,  had  just  comfortably  disposed  of  a  useful  animal  called 
Gimcrack  who  was  receiving  precisely  two  stone,  Mr.  Coventry  was 
somewhat  amused  at  the  suggestion,  convinced  that  The  Owl  could 
give  Boisterous,  then  at  the  beginning  of  her  five-year-old  career,  a 
great  deal  of  weight.  It  was  decided,  nevertheless,  that  they  should 
try  at  evens,  Arthur  Coventry  riding  The  Owl,  whom  he  knew  well, 
Tom  Cannon  on  his  own  mare,  and  that  they  would  have  a  couple 
of  racehorses  in  to  make  a  pace.  The  two  latter  jumped  off, 
Boisterous   third  with  The  Owl  at  her   girths,  and  so  they  went 


{Photograph  by  W.  A.  Rouch) 

for  the  best  part  of  a  mile.  **  Come  on,  Mr.  Coventry,"  Tom 
Cannon  exclaimed  as  they  galloped  along ;  and  **  I'm  coming  as  fast 
as  I  can,  Tom  !  "  was  all  that  he  could  urge  in  reply.  Tom  Cannon 
kept  pulling  his  horse  back,  Mr.  Coventry  tried  to  take  advantage 
of  the  fact  and  get  ahead,  but  never  had  a  look  in  from  first  to  last, 
until,  pulling  double,  Boisterous  had  passed  the  real  winning  post, 
leaving  The  Owl  to  go  on  a  few  hundred  yards  further  for  the 
benefit  of  any  touts  who  might  happen  to  be  scrutinising  the  gallop. 
"  I  suppose  you  know  I  could  have  beaten  you  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ?  " 

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Tom  Cannon  observed  as  they  pulled  up.  **Just  about  as  near  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  as  makes  no  matter,  Tom,"  was  the  answer ;  and 
on  Boisterous  at  Sandown  Mr.  Coventry  naturally  achieved  one  of 
the  easiest  of  victories. 

I  chanced  to  be  at  Danebury  when  Boisterous  was  schooled 
over  fences  for  the  first  time,  and  described  the  incident  in  a  book 
published  some  years  ago  called  '*  Racecourse  and  Covertside." 
Boisterous  did  well ;  but  perhaps  I  may  be  allowed  to  quote  my 
description.  She  had  jumped  a  couple  of  hurdles  in  good  style,  and 
Tom  Cannon  decided  that  she  should  have  a  try  at  the  steeplechase 
jumps  led  by  a  chestnut  horse  called  Hugo.  I  hazarded  the  opinion 
that  so  good  a  hurdle  jumper  must  prove  a  flyer  at  the  other  game. 
** '  Yes,  but  this  is  different,'  Tom  Cannon  said ;  '  she  can  see 
through  the  hurdles,  but  here's  a  great  black  thing  and  she  doesn't 
know  what's  on  the  other  side.  I  shan't  be  surprised  if  she  refuses, 
but  if  she  does  jump  she  will  have  to  clear  it  or  come  down — for  she 
can't  brush  through  ;  it  won't  give.  However,  she  has  got  to  learn 
some  time  or  other,  and  she  may  as  well  begin.  Here  they  come  ! ' 
*  And  she  means  having  it,  too  !  '  I  exclaimed,  as  the  chestnut  horse 
came  on  with  a  vigorous  rush,  the  mare  following  in  his  wake." 

**  Nearing  the  fence  she  pricked  her  ears,  and  seemed,  as  it  were, 
to  measure  the  distance  with  her  eye ;  then  gathering  herself  to- 
gether, rose  at  the  leap,  cleared  it  in  perfect  style,  and  was  away 
again  on  the  other  side  after  her  chestnut  leader  without  a  percep- 
tible pause.  *  Capital !  I  hardly  thought  she  would  have  done  it 
so  neatly.  There  she  goes  again,  too  ! '  Cannon  said,  as  the  pair 
approach  and  fly  over  the  second  obstacle.  *  Yes,  that's  first  rate. 
I  like  the  way  she  looked  at  it  and  took  in  what  she  had  to  do.' " 

Boisterous  nevertheless  proved  a  disappointment  over  jumps. 
She  was  a  heavy-shouldered  mare,  and  pitched  on  landing  when 
going  at  racing  pace,  so  that  it  was  only  on  the  flat  that  she  dis- 
tinguished herself. 

I  was  talking  one  day  to  Fred  Archer  in  the  weighing-room,  I 
think  it  was  at  Lewes,  when  he  took  up  a  race-card  and  observed : 
** 'Jockeys  seven  pounds  extra,'  and  Mr.  Arthur  Coventry  riding. 
That's  a  nice  treat  for  the  jockeys  !  " 

**  Can't  you  give  him  seven  pounds  ?  "  I  inquired. 

**  No,  nor  seven  ounces,"  Archer  replied.  "Over  a  mile  he's 
just  as  good  as  any  of  us.  At  five  furlongs  we  are  more  used  to 
jumping  off*,  and  may  perhaps  have  just  a  bit  the  best  of  riders  who 
are  not  always  at  it ;  but  over  a  mile  no  one  is  better  than 
Mr.  Coventry." 

That  was  the  verdict  of  one  who  will  be  admitted  as  a  com- 
petent judge ;  and,  I  may  add,  it  only  bore  out  the  general  opinion. 

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No  one,  too,  appreciated,  I  should  say  appreciates,  horseman- 
ship more  than  Arthur  Coventry.  I  remember  at  Epsom  standing 
next  to  my  friend  in  the  Club  Stand  to  watch  a  race  in  which  Tom 
Cannon  rode  a  horse  of  his  brother's  against  an  Epsom-trained 
mare  called  (I  think)  Black  Duchess.  These  two  were  out  by  them- 
selves as  they  neared  the  distance,  but  Black  Duchess  seemed  to  have 
all  the  best  of  it,  and  someone  standing  close  to  us  exclaimed,  as 
he  watched  them,  **  It's  lo  to  i  on  the  mare."  **  An  even  sovereign 
on  the  other,"  Arthur  Coventry  replied,  taking  the  offer  of  odds 
as  a  figure  of  speech ;  and  after  a  desperate  finish  **  the  other  "  won 


a  head.  '*  What  made  you  back  it  ?  "  I  said  to  him.  "  It  looked 
to  me  any  odds  on  the  mare  ?  "  "  Yes,  but  I  knew  Tom  would  do 
something  extraordinarily  wonderful  in  the  last  hundred  yards !  " 
he  rejoined  ;  and  Tom  certainly  did. 

It  may  be  said  without  hesitation  that  no  one  has  done  more 
than  Mr.  Arthur  Coventry  to  maintain  the  reputation  of  the  genuine 
gentleman-rider.  Here  is  a  little  story  with  which  I  chance  to  be 
acquainted,  bearing  on  the  subject.  A  certain  personage  had  some 
horses,  in  which  he  did  not  take  very  much  interest,  leaving  details 
as  to  their  running,  and  so  forth,  to  someone  who  managed  for  him. 

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This  manager,  looking  for  a  jockey  one  day  in  a  gentlemen-riders* 
race,  naturally  went  to  Mr.  Coventry,  asked  if  he  were  engaged,  and 
hearing  that  he  was  not,  begged  him  to  ride. 

"  I  think  it's  a  good  thing,"  the  manager  said,  "  I  don't  see 
what's  to  beat  you,  and  I  should  advise  you  to  have  a  pony  on." 

Mr.  Coventry  never  ventured  much  on  his  own  mounts,  for 
some  mysterious  reason,  seeing  that  when  he  was  in  the  thick  of  the 
fray  he  not  seldom  had  a  biggish  stake  on  a  horse  ridden,  perhaps, 
by  an  indifferent  5  st.  7  lb.  boy ;  but  on  this  occasion  he  ventured 
his  pony  and  was  beaten.  A  week  or  two  afterwards  the  manager 
asked  him  to  ride  the  same  horse  again. 

"  He's  come  on  since  he  ran  last,  and  his  race  did  him  good. 
We  ought  to  get  a  good  price,  too,  and  you'll  get  your  pony  back 
with  interest,"  he  said. 

**  I'll  ride  him  with  pleasure,"  Mr.  Coventry  answered,  "  but  I 
can't  fancy  him.  There  are  two  or  three  that  I  think  ought  to  beat 
him  this  time.     It's  not  good  enough  to  bet  on." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  the  manager  said,  "and  I  shall  cer- 
tainly put  your  pony  on." 

**  Please  don't  do  anything  of  the  sort,"  Mr.  Coventry  replied. 
'*  I  really  won't  bet." 

"  Oh,  but  you  must.  I  shall  put  a  tenner  on  for  you  at  any 
rate.     You  must  have  that." 

"  No,"  Mr.  Coventry  said,  emphatically,  "  I  won't  back  it  for  a 
shilling;  please  don't  do  anything  for  me." 

The  horse  started  at  10  to  i,  won  half  a  length,  and  on  the 
Monday  Mr.  Coventry  received  a  cheque  for  £100  from  the  manager. 
Telling  a  friend  the  story  of  what  had  occurred,  he  added,  "  I 
couldn't  take  the  money,  of  course ;  but  I  was  rather  puzzled.     You 

see,  I  don't  know  anything  about  Lord 's  manager.     He  maybe 

the  straightest  fellow  in  the  world,  and  very  likely  he  is ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  thought  that  if  I  sent  him  back  the  cheque  I  shouldn't 
know  what  became  of  it ;  so — though  I  wanted  the  money  badly 
enough,  goodness  knows ! — I  tore  off  the  signature  and  returned  it 

that  way.     Lord ,  when  he  looks  at  his  book,  will  at  any  rate 

see  that  I  never  cashed  his  cheque." 

It  is  pleasant  for  a  gentleman  rider  to  be  able  to  go  into  the 
weighing-room  with  a  happy  confidence  that  there  is  no  question 
about  his  status,  and  some  years  ago  when  a  skilful  horseman,  who 
notoriously  made  a  living  out  of  the  game,  boldly  claimed  the  7  lb, 
allowed  in  a  certain  race  for  gentlemen  riders,  Mr.  Coventry  was . 
in  a  position  courteously  to  inquire  whether  the  claim  was  justified. 

The  Steeplechase  volume  in  the  Badminton  Library  appears  as 
the  work  of  Mr.  Coventry  and  myself.      I   had  a  hard   task   to 

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persuade  him  to  undertake  the  business,  he  protesting  that  he  was 
no  penman  ;  but,  of  course,  his  knowledge  and  experience  were 
invaluable.  The  Duke  of  Beaufort  urged  him  to  help,  and  his 
brother-in-law,  the  late  Lord  Suffolk,  who  it  is  almost  needless  to 
say  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  writers  of  the  period — a  large 
claim,  which,  however,  may  be  made  without  any  exaggeration — 
promised  all  possible  assistance,  and,  I  may  add,  gave  it.  So  it  was 
arranged  that  we  should  talk  the  chapters  over  together,  that  I 
should  do  the  actual  writing,  and  that  Arthur  Coventry  should  come 
and  hear  them  read — criticising,  commenting,  and  suggesting  until 

{Photograph  by  W.  A.  Rouch) 

we  got  things  into  shape  ;  and  thus  the  book  was  written. 
Mr.  Coventry  used  to  come  to  my  house  to  hear  what  I  had  done, 
and  then  if  any  technical  questions  arose  as  to  the  precise  manner 
in  which  horses  landed  over  their  fences,  or  what  not,  he  would  say, 
**  I  think  we  had  better  go  down  and  see  Tom  Cannon.*'  So  to 
Danebury  we  would  go,  confident  of  a  kindly  welcome,  we  had 
some  of  the  horses  out,  and  published  the  results  of  our  obser- 

Wanting  occupation,  and  loving  the  atmosphere  of  the  race- 
course, Mr.  Coventry,  when  he  gave  up  riding,  applied  for  the  post 




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of  Starter,  and  was,  of  course,  cordially  welcomed.  He  has  done 
admirable  work  in  this  capacity,  as  all  racegoers  are  aware,  both 
with  the  flag  and  since  the  introduction  of  the  gate;  if  he  has  a 
fault  it  is  really  a  virtue — infinite  patience  mixed  with  over-anxiety. 
There  is  perhaps  more  ignorant  criticism  of  starting  than  of  any- 
thing else  in  racing.  Some  horses  are  in  their  strides  at  once, 
others  begin  slowly — perhaps  swerve  or  are  badly  bumped ;  and  so, 
though  they  may  have  been  in  most  perfect  line  when  the  barrier 
flew  up,  all  the  jockeys  equally  ready,  in  fact,  when  the  start  has 
been  simply  perfect,  there  is  sometimes  a  wide  distance  between 
leader  and  last  when  they  have  gone  a  few  hundred  yards;  the  start 
being  set  down  as  wretched,  and  the  starter  as  a  species  of  criminal. 

In  the  days  when  Mr.  Coventry  was  winning  many  races,  and 
full  of  enthusiasm  on  the  subject,  he  confided  to  me  that  he  would 
rather  catch  a  big  salmon  than  win  any  race  ever  known,  and  his 
keenness  for  the  rod  continues.  A  regular  visitor  at  Gordon  Castle, 
his  skill  as  an  angler  has  been  shown  by  the  landing  cf  many  big 
Spey  fish.  He  is  also  an  excellent  shot  with  gun  and  rifle  alike, 
though  a  victim  to  the  acutest  attacks  of  stag  fever.  "  You  feel  cool 
as  a  cucumber  till  you  get  that  wretched  rifle  in  your  hand,"  I  have 
heard  him  say,  "and  then  the  fever  catches  you,  and  you  don't 
know  what  you  are  doing."  The  end  of  it,  however,  in  his  case,  is 
usually  a  good  head. 

It  is  difficult  to  write  about  the  character  of  a  friend  whom  one 
has  the  pleasure  of  constantly  meeting,  and  with  regard  to  this  it 
will  be  sufficient  to  say  that  there  are  the  best  of  reasons  why 
Arthur  Coventry  should  be,  as  he  is,  one  of  the  most  popular  men 
in  England. 


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XII.— THE     SATYR     MAN 


The  great  museum  was  closed  for  the  day.  In  the  dim  galleries 
many  skeletons  stood :  whitened  bones  of  man  and  ape  and  mam- 
moth ;  grinning  masks  and  fleshless  limbs ;  weird  relics  of  things 
which  had  once  wandered  in  long-forgotten  forests,  or  browsed  on 
plains  now  hidden  by  the  sea. 

The  subordinates  had  departed,  and  Mr.  Sugg,  the  assistant 
curator,  accompanied  by  a  friend,  alone  remained.  Mr.  Sugg  was 
young — young  and  untravelled  enough  to  have  eliminated  all  mys- 
tery from  the  universe.  For  him  poetry  was  merely  an  elevated 
form  of  ignorance,  and  wonder  a  matter  of  imperfect  education. 
He  smiled  at  the  word  "  Soul,''  knowing  that  Life  is  a  process 
pretty  much  akin  to  combustion,  and  for  the  weaker  brethren, 
including  religionists  of  all  denominations,  his  contempt,  even  if 
genial,  was  none  the  less  thorough.  In  the  spectral  light,  and 
surrounded  by  the  jetsam  of  the  dead  ages,  he  was  engaged  in 
arranging  certain  bones  on  a  rough  table  for  the  delectation  of  his 

"  Now,  these  are  what  beat  us,"  he  said,  when  he  had  con- 
cluded the  arrangement  to  his  satisfaction.  "  We  have  never  been 
able  to  determine  with  certainty  the  species  to  which  they  belong." 

His  friend,  no  mean  zoologist  by  the  way,  examined  them  with 
keen  interest. 

"  Gorilla !  "  he  said,  at  length,  rather  decisively. 

Mr.  Sugg  appeared  to  be  amused.  "  Before  we  travel  quite  so 
fast  we  may  at  least  take  it  that  the  remains  are  those  of  a  true 
anthropoid  ape." 

His  friend  assented.     **  Certainly,"  he  replied. 

NO.  cxxvu.    VOL.  xxii. — February  1906  K 

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"  Well,  wait  a  moment.  In  the  first  place  we  may,  of  course, 
pass  by  the  gibbons.  Apart  from  the  question  of  size,  the  extreme 
relative  length  of  hand  and  arm  so  characteristic  of  the  gibbons 
(Hylobates)  is  too  conspicuous  by  its  absence  here** — indicating  the 
skeleton — "  to  make  further  inquiry  on  that  head  necessary.  Now 
we  come  to  the  orang.  The  length  of  the  entire  foot  of  the  orang, 
as  compared  with  that  of  the  backbone,  is  strikingly  great.  In  the 
present  case  the  length  is  not  remarkable.  Again,  take  the  hand ; 
there  is  no  marked  discrepancy  in  the  relative  lengths  of  thumb  and 
fingers.  The  orang  has  the  shortest  thumb  as  compared  with  the 
forefingers  of  all  the  anthropoids." 

The  friend  reflected.  "That  is  true,'*  he  said.  "As  I  told 
you,  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  the  gorilla,  or  possibly  the 

Again  Mr.  Sugg  smiled. 

"  But  the  ribs,"  he  said  ;  **  there  are  only  twelve  pairs,  as  in 
man.  No  gorilla  or  chimpanzee  has  ever  been  discovered  with 
fewer  than  thirteen.  Then  the  wrist-bones;  there  are  only  eight. 
In  a  chimpanzee  or  gorilla  there  would  be  nine." 

The  friend  looked  utterly  blank.  **  Still,  the  skeleton  is  not 
that  of  a  man,"  he  said,  reflectively.  "Apart  from  the  abnormal 
length  of  limb,  the  bones  of  the  feet  alone  make  such  a  hypothesis 
untenable.  You  see  that  the  hallux  is  so  constructed  as  to  oppose 
the  other  toes  (much  as  our  thumb  can  oppose  the  fingers),  instead 
of  being  parallel  with  the  other  toes  and  exclusively  adapted  for 
supporting  the  body  on  the  ground.  The  prehensile  character  of 
the  hallux,  in  fact,  is  fully  developed,  and  renders  the  foot  a  distinct 
and  tremendously  muscular  hand.  By  the  way,  what  does  Stacpoole 
say  of  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Sugg  toyed  with  the  bones  a  moment  without  speaking. 

"  That  is  the  really  strange  part  of  the  business,"  he  said,  at 
length.     "  Stacpoole  says  never  a  word." 

But  although  Professor  Henry  Stacpoole,  whose  name  rings  at 
short  intervals  through  the  whole  scientific  world,  has  systematically 
refused  to  enlighten  the  curiosity  of  Mr.  Sugg  and  his  like,  it  by  no 
means  follows  that  he  has  nothing  to  say. 

The  unclassified  bones  which  Mr.  Sugg  handles  with  profes- 
sional carelessness  are  closely  linked  with  an  episode  in  his  career 
which  he  is  never  likely  to  forget.  Incidentally  they  may  be  said 
to  have  discovered  for  him  a  very  charming  wife,  but  their  associa- 
tions have  none  the  less  a  distinctly  painful  side.  The  skeleton  has 
never  been  articulated  in  the  ordinary  way ;  usually  the  bones  are 

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THE    SATYR    MAN  137 

stored  in  one  of  the  vast  drawers  which  hne  the  workroom.     For 
whenever  the  Professor's  glance  falls  upon  them  he  sees  a  dim  vista, 
in  a  West  African  jungle.     The  ground  is  slippery  with  blood,  and 
a  girl,  newly  snatched  from  death,  is  at  his  side.     However,  here  is 
the  story  : — 

With  his  reputation  still  in  the  future,  Henry  Stacpoole,  like 
most  young  zoologists,  was  avid  of  discovery.  He  was  also  a  keen 
sportsman,  and  the  spirit  of  adventure  was  strong  within  him. 
When,  therefore,  a  letter  came  from  the  Rev.  Dr.  Stirling,  a  mis- 
sionary settled  at  Bak^li,  hinting  at  mystery  and  sport,  Stacpoole 
read  it  with  unusual  interest.  Bak^li  is  a  small  station  on  a 
tributary  of  the  Gaboon  River,  and  Stirling  wrote  of  a  tradition 
current  amongst  the  natives,  that  certain  large  ape-like  animals 
differing  from  all  recognised  species  exist  in  the  dense  jungles 
thereabouts.  These  animals  were  named  indifferently,  Gina, 
Qugeena,  and  M'wiri,  the  latter  a  term  signifying  **  Satyr  Man."' 
The  higher  caste  Fans,  Stirling  went  on,  had  a  superstitious 
reverence  for  these  strange  creatures,  and  refused  in  any  way  to 
molest  them,  believing  that  the  souls  of  their  dead  ancestors  had 
entered  their  bodies.  This  belief  had  given  rise  to  a  Fantee  saying  : 
**  He  who  kills  M'wiri  kills  a  Soul."  A  further  safeguard  from 
offence  lay  in  the  fact  that  M*wiri  was  credited  with  altogether 
supernatural  knowledge  and  power  :  that  his  long  arm  could  reach 
his  adversary  irrespective  of  place  or  distance,  at  any  time,  no 
matter  how  far  he  might  flee,  nor  howsoever  cunningly  he  might 
hide  himself.  Stirling  concluded  by  saying  that  notwithstanding 
his  long  residence,  he  had  never  seen  one  in  the  flesh,  but  that 
recently  certain  unidentified  bones,  which  he  forwarded,  had  been 
brought  to  the  mission  house.  He  was  interested  to  know  what 
Stacpoole  would  make  of  the  matter. 

Now  Stacpoole  recalled  certain  words  of  Winwood  Reade's : 
he  remembered  Wallace  had  predicted  that  new  forms  akin  to  the 
gorilla  might  still  be  found  in  the  dense,  unexplored  forests  of 
Western  Africa.  And  here  was  a  remote  spot  practically  on  the 
Equator,  the  mystic  line  which  all  the  giant  anthropoids  love;  and 
here  was  the  legend — widely  spread,  whatever  might  be  its  base — 
that  the  new  form  actually  existed.  Besides,  there  were  the 

After  a  very  brief  delay  for  the  procuring  of  suitable  arms  and 
accoutrements,  the  West  Coast  mail  steamer  bore  Henry  Stacpoole 
down  the  Southampton  W^ater  on  his  way  to  the  Gaboon. 

The  mission  house  at  Bak^li  was  of  bare  wood,  thatched  with 
fan  palms,  with  a  wide  veranda  in  front.  It  had  been  originally 
occupied  by  the  native  catechist  and  his  wife,  and  fell  far  below  any 

K  a 

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European  standard  of  comfort.  Still,  it  contrasted  favourably  with 
the  irregular  rows  of  huts  which  surrounded  it,  and  Stacpoole  was 
well  content. 

The  road  of  beaten  red  dust,  strewn  with  unnamed  debris,  ended 
in  the  rude  market-place,  where  the  butchers  sold  their  reeking 
goats'  flesh.  To  the  left  the  silent  river  ran,  almost  hidden  in  places 
by  the  dense  tangle  of  creepers  and  lianas  which  lined  its  banks, 
and  behind  grew  clumps  of  wild  ginger  and  stately  groups  of  date 
palms.  Here  William  Stirling  lived  his  simple  life  amidst  the 
savages,  the  monotony  of  which  was  alone  broken  by  the  stray  visit 
of  some  official  from  the  distant  railway  on  a  hunting-trip,  or  of  a 
drunken  half-caste  Portuguese  rum-dealer.  Here  Stirling's  devoted 
wife  lived  and  died,  and  the  little  stone  which  marked  her  grave 
could  be  seen  gleaming  white  at  the  foot  of  the  palms. 

Stacpoole  found  himself  welcomed  warmly,  and  it  was  only  on 
his  arrival  that  he  learnt  that  the  old  missionary  had  a  daughter. 
Later,  she  entered  the  little  bungalow  where  the  two  men  were 

**  A  strange  child,  Stacpoole !  "  said  the  old  man,  as  he  stretched 
out  his  gnarled  and  knotted  hand  to  clasp  the  little  white  one  at  his 
side.  **  She  wanders  where  she  will  in  this  Heaven-forsaken  country. 
She  has  no  fear." 

Stacpoole  glanced  at  the  slight  figure  and  fair,  delicate  face  of 
the  girl  as  she  stood  stroking  her  father's  hand. 

**  It  strikes  one  as  being  rather  a  wild  life  for  a  young  lady,"  he 
said.  '*  Miss  Stirling  should  at  least  avoid  some  of  the  errors  of 

When  they  were  alone  the  old  man  again  spoke  of  his  daughter. 
"  Yes,"  he  said,  reflectively,  "  I  sometimes  wonder  if  I  am 
acting  fairly  to  Enid  in  permitting  her  to  remain  here.  But  she  is 
so  happy— and — and  so  strangely  good.  Even  to  me  she  app)ears 
like  a  spirit.  She  passes  through  the  foulest  scenes,  the  most  devil- 
like orgies,  but  she  touches  them  exactly  as  pure  sunlight  might. 
Darkness,  sin,  disease — even  in  this  death-dealing  climate  she  has 
never  known  ache  or  pain — seem  to  shrink  from  her  as  though  she 
were  something  of  an  essentially  different  nature.  As  I  said,  she 
knows  nothing  of  fear.  When  the  plague  decimated  half  the 
country-side,  she  was  out  alone  in  the  blackest  night  on  her  errands 
of  mercy.  The  lowest  savages,  even  the  wild  animals,  seem  to 
recognise  something  which  they  cannot  understand,  but  which  they 
instantly  give  way  to.     She  is  a  strange  child  !  " 

Stacpoole  assented.  Even  he  had  been  touched  by  the  sense 
of  radiant  power  which  this  girl,  who  was  little  more  than  a  child, 
seemed  to  possess.    But  for  the  keen  sportsman  and  naturalist  there 

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THE    SATYR    MAN  139 

was  something  more  important  afoot  than  missionary  capacity, 
however  sublime.  He  unstrapped  the  cases  where  the  rifles  were 
carefully  packed,  and  he  noted  with  satisfaction  that  his  host  ran 
over  their  fine  lines  with  a  practised  eye,  and  that  his  hands 
lingered  on  the  barrels  with  the  pleasure  which  betokens  the  old 

Already  the  conversation  had  turned  many  times  on  M'wiri,  the 
mysterious  ape-like  creature  of  which  Stirling  had  written.  The 
old  man  was  deeply  interested  in  the  matter,  but  he  had  little  of 
personal  knowledge  to  impart. 

**  Since  the  day  of  my  first  coming  here  many  years  ago,"  he 
said,  **  I  have  heard  rumours  of  this  strange  beast.  They  were 
usually  accompanied  by  wild  tales  plainly  apocryphal,  and  I  dis- 
missed them  from  my  mind.  In  this  weird  country  anything  seems 
possible.  A  touch  of  fever  in  the  blood,  and  dark  forms  may  arise 
in  the  brain  which  it  is  hard  to  distinguish  from  realities.  It  is  best 
to  be  on  one's  guard." 

"  Is  it  not  possible  to  interview  anyone  here  who  has  really  seen 
the  apparition,  god  or  brute,  as  it  may  be?  "  asked  Stacpoole. 

The  old  man  looked  troubled. 

"  Few  state  that  they  have  actually  seen  it,"  he  said ;  "  and  it  is 
hard  to  get  them  to  speak.  As  I  told  you  in  my  letter,  I  had  doubt 
of  its  existence,  but " 

He  paused,  and  the  troubled  look  deepened  on  his  face. 
Stacpoole  looked  up  quickly. 

*'  The  fact  is  Enid  now  claims  to  have  encountered  it.  I  can 
hardly  believe  it  to  be  pure  hallucination— but — the  circumstances 
are  so  strange.  You  know  well  the  timidity  of  all  the  gorilla  tribe  ; 
how  it  takes  most  careful  tracking  to  get  a  sight  of  them  at  all. 
Well,  here  is  a  monster,  vaster  in  girth  and  length  of  limb  than  any 
known  man,  moving  in  the  midst  of  the  street  at  broad  midday, 
passing  her  within  three  feet." 

**  It  must  have  been  seen  by  many  others  besides  Miss  Stirling?  " 
said  Stacpoole,  quickly. 

**  No;  the  street  chanced  to  be  empty — that  is  not  unusual.  It 
is  strange — very  strange — but  something  of  the  Fantee  feeling,  which 
I  have  hitherto  held  to  be  blank  superstition,  appears  to  have  affected 
the  child's  mind.  There  is  no  fear;  not  even  shrinking.  She  has 
nothing  of  these  in  common  with  the  Fans.  It  is  rather  a  sense — 
how  shall  I  express  it  ? — a  sense  almost  of  reverence  ;  a  feeling  that 
it  would  be  a  terrible,  even  an  impious,  thing  to  offer  it  injury.  We 
must  beware  how  we  discuss  any  murderous  scheme  in  Enid's  pre- 
sence, Stackpoole !  " 

That  night  Stacpoole  smiled  a  little  in  self-derision.     His  hope 

Digitized  by 



of  adding  a  new  anthropoid  to  the  meagre  list  already  known  to 
science  was  growing  remote.  It  occurred  to  him  again  that  the 
bones  might  be  merely  some  abnormal  example  of  a  known  type 
after  all.  The  evidence  of  the  existence  of  a  new  sf)ecies  became 
more  and  more  shadowy — the  half-dreamy  babblings  of  a  few  super- 
stitious savages,  most  of  which  were  demonstrably  absurd  ;  the 
"  vision  *'  of  a  neurotic  girl,  seen  amid  circumstances  in  the  highest 
degree  improbable — upon  these  rested  his  hopes,  lately  so  rosy. 

He  looked  from  the  low  veranda.  The  African  moon  had 
risen.  It  touched  the  snaky  lianas  and  other  monstrous  growths 
with  unearthly  radiance.  A  white  gleam  lay  upon  the  river,  and 
dim  forms  rose,  or  seemed  to  rise,  in  the  water,  appearing  to  dissolve 
rather  than  to  sink,  leaving  the  mind  restless.  Strange  perfumes 
were  in  the  dead  air,  and  sometimes  a  low,  wailing  cry  came  from 
the  woods.  Above,  towering  far  into  the  gloom,  rose  the  funereal 
plumes  of  the  date  palms. 

Stacpoole  turned  aside  impatiently.  In  this  devils-land  any- 
thing seemed  possible.  Given  but  a  touch  of  the  omnipresent  fever, 
and  the  strongest  brain  might  see  trees  as  men  walking. 

He  took  out  the  rifles  and  began  to  oil  the  locks.  Even  if 
M'wiri  was  a  myth,  there  were  deer  in  the  woods,  and  hippo  and 
crocodiles  in  the  river. 

In  the  morning  two  scantily  attired  savages,  Kanga  and 
Salombo,  stood  stolidly  in  the  veranda;  mighty  hunters  and  pro- 
fessional trackers  who  knew  the  jungles  as  snake  or  tiger  might,  and 
who  could  subsist  for  many  days  on  a  cassava  ball  or  mere  handful 
of  plantain  paste. 

Yet,  keen  sportsman  as  he  was,  Stacpoole  showed  no  undue 
eagerness  for  the  fray.  The  fact  was  he  had  become  rather  interested 
in  Miss  Stirling.  At  first  psychologically,  and  subsequently  for 
reasons  which  hardly  came  within  the  domain  of  true  science. 

Anything  apparently  less  neurotic,  or  more  winsome,  than  this 
daughter  of  the  forest  he  had  never  met.  She  was  so  utterly  free 
from  the  artifice  usually  inseparable  from  feminine  civilisation  that 
Stacpoole  had  come  to  look  upon  her  as  a  child.  Yet  her  know- 
ledge was  extraordinary.  In  the  matter  of  the  intricate  fauna  and 
flora  of  the  region  he  found  himself  sitting  at  her  feet,  drinking  from 
deep  and  original  wells  of  information.  Plainly  she  owed  nothing 
to  the  text-books:  she  had  an  instinct  for  birds  and  beasts  and 
flowers,  and  she  saw  them  in  new  and  interesting  lights,  always  at 
first  hand.  A  saving  grace  of  humour  destroyed  all  trace  of  the 
bluestocking,  and  the  little  caressing  ways  which  she  had  never  been 
taught  to  hide  were  delightful  to  behold. 

Stacpoole  refrained  from  referring  to  M'wiri,     If  the  girl  were 

Digitized  by 


THE    SATYR    MAN  141 

the  victim  of  hallucination,  as  he  firmly  believed,  the  matter  were 
better  left.     Still,  she  was  a  most  interesting  companion. 

As  the  little  hunting  party  passed  through  the  village,  Stac- 
poole's  attention  was  attracted  by  a  hideous  and  extremely  old 
savage  sitting  in  the  red  dust  of  the  roadside.  He  was  attired  in 
the  uncouth  garb  of  a  native  priest  or  witch-doctor.  His  mouth  was 
partly  open,  and  his  eyes  had  the  fixed  piercing  quality  not  infre- 
quently seen  in  the  insane  or  the  dying.  He  appeared  to  look 
through  the  group  to  some  distant  vista  beyond,  but  he  gave  no  sign 
of  being  aware  of  their  presence. 

Stirling  touched  Stacpoole's  arm.  "  Come  !  "  he  said.  "  Don't 
speak  to  him.  We  may  have  trouble. — That  is  Mongulamba," 
he  added  later.  "  Mainly  mad,  I  think,  but  with  some  method  in 
it.  Why  he  is  here,  I  don't  know.  He  belongs  to  another  tribe — 
cannibalistic  devil -worshippers,  if  rumour  is  true.  They  have  learnt, 
however,  to  keep  their  proceedings  carefully  secret.  So  much  of 
civilisation  has  at  least  reached  them.  But  why  that  half-witted 
monstrosity  is  hanging  about  here,  so  far  from  his  own  people,  it  is 
difficult  to  imagine." 

But  Stacpoole  soon  forgot  the  loathsome  figure  squatting  in  the 
dust.  A  new  world  seemed  opening  around  him.  The  wonders  of 
tropical  vegetation,  the  giant  ferns,  the  trees  which  were  each  a 
towering  mass  of  flowers,  the  brilliantly  dyed  birds  and  butterflies — 
all  these  brought  a  new  delight  to  the  soul  of  the  naturalist.  In  its 
lower  reaches  the  river  broadened  into  a  lagoon,  and  here  the  keen  J 

eye  of  Salombo,  peering  through  the  tangled  greenery,  marked  a  1 

dull  grey  object  lying  like  driftwood  on   the  water.     Here   Stac- 
poole got  his  first  shot  at  a  crocodile ;  but,  although  the  bullet  was  • 
true,  the  grey  driftwood  merely  sank  from  sight,  and  appeared  no                                  ^ 
more.                                                                                                                                          f 

That  night  the  young  naturalist  felt  at  peace  with  the  world.  • 

The  bag  might  be  nil,  M'wiri  might  be  the  mere  phantom  of  a  fever-  ^ 

striken  imagination,  but  at  least  he  had  gained  a  near  intimacy  with  | 

a   tropical   forest,   a   thing   worth  many  journeys,  and  one  which  ^ 

surely  no  man  can  ever  forget.  As  Stacpoole  lighted  a  cigar  he 
heard  Kanga  and  the  stalwart  Salombo  busy  in  the  small  bamboo 
enclosure  where  they  cleaned  the  rifles  and  prepared  the  gear  ready 
for  the  morrow. 

Within  the  little  bungalow  Miss  Stirling  was  still  seated  at  the 
table.  Her  father  had  risen  and  had  moved  towards  the  door. 
Outside,  the  moon  made  little  pools  of  light,  their  outlines  sharply 
defined  by  the  black  shadows  of  the  trees.  The  girl  had  been 
chatting  merrily  with  Stacpoole.  Suddenly  she  fell  back,  her  eyes 
fixed  strangely  on  the  little  blindless  window. 

Digitized  by 



"  There  !  There !  It  is  there  !  '*  she  said,  in  a  low,  breathless 

Instantly  Stirling  turned  and  seized  her  in  his  arms.  '*  Enid — 
Enid — my  darling,"  he  whispered,  soothingly,  "you  forget  yourself. 
You  are  dreaming — dreaming !  " 

But  Stacpoole  had  leapt  to  his  feet,  his  face  pallid  with 

**  By  Heaven,  she  was  right ;  I — I  saw  it  myself.  There  was  a 
weird,  unearthly  face  pressed  to  the  glass." 

In  a  second  more  he  was  outside.  *'  Kanga — Salombo,"  he 
whispered,  **  the  guns — quick,  and  not  a  sound  !  " 

The  hunters  knew  many  words  of  English,  and  handed  the 
rifles  silently,  wondering  what  game  was  afoot.  Then,  armed 
themselves,  they  passed  out  quietly  with  Stacpoole  into  the 
blackness  of  the  trees. 

The  ground  here  was  fairly  free  from  undergrowth,  and  Stac- 
poole lined  out  his  men  with  orders  to  shoot  if  anything  moved. 
In  the  stillness  of  the  night  the  crackle  of  a  dry  twig  could  be  heard. 
Every  second  Stacpoole  expected  to  hear  a  mighty  rush,  but 
nothing  stirred.  They  were  now  nearing  the  edge  of  the  belt  of 
timber.  The  pale  light  began  to  filter  through  the  trees  and  to 
illuminate  the  wide  open  space  beyond.  Sometimes  a  faint  breath 
of  wind  moved  the  boughs,  and  again  all  was  silent.  Stacpoole 
leaned  against  a  tree  and  waited  listening. 

Suddenly  a  sound  came — a  half-cry  choked  in  its  utterance. 
A  noise  of  crushing,  followed  by  the  fall  as  of  some  heavy  body 
from  a  height.  Then  again  all  was  silent,  save  for  the  faint 
rustling  of  the  boughs. 

On  the  instant  Stacpoole  had  rushed  to  the  spot  whence  the 
sounds  had  come,  barely  twenty  yards  away;  but  Kanga  had  reached 
it  first.  For  one  moment  he  crouched  over  the  shattered  corpse  of 
Salombo,  whining  like  a  dog.  Then  with  a  terrified  cry  of  "  M'wiri ! 
M*wiri !  "  he  bolted  through  the  wood  like  a  gun-shy  setter. 

«  «  4»  «  ♦ 

For  many  days  the  death  of  Salombo  spread  consternation 
through  the  village.  The  natives  feared  to  leave  their  huts.  Stac- 
poole, alone,  rifle  in  hand,  worked  the  nearer  woods  day  by  day, 
but  without  result.  A  sense  of  gloom  descended  upon  the  little 
bungalow,  and  Miss  Stirling's  face  grew  white  and  strained.  Even 
Stirling  himself  appeared  to  be  uneasy. 

One  day  he  took  Stacpoole  aside.  **  I  wish  you  would  cease  to 
hunt  for  this  accursed  thing,"  he  said,  somewhat  abruptly.  "  It  is 
affecting  Enid's  mind.  Do  you  know  she  claims  to  have  seen  this 
weird  beast  again  ?  " 

Digitized  by 


THE    SATYR    MAN  143 

Stacpoole  started.  "  She  must  not  venture  out,"  he  exclaimed. 
**  The  thing  is  too  dangerous.'' 

Stirling  passed  his  hand  with  a  distressed  movement  across  his 
brow.  **  It  is  not  that,"  he  said.  "  I  begin  to  fear  for  her  reason. 
She  contends  now  she  has  not  only  seen  it,  she  has  touched  it,  held 
some  uncanny  communion  with  it,  and  .she  asserts  vehemently  that 
we  are  in  the  presence  of  some  Power,  some  Intelligence  which  we 
do  not  understand." 

In  his  turn  Stacpoole  looked  distressed.  **  Poor  child,"  he 
thought ;  **  pray  heaven  it  is  only  a  touch  of  fever.  In  this  land  of 
shadows  dreams  thicken  into  realities.  I  have  felt  it  myself.  I  will 
speak  to  her.     Surely  her  mind  cannot  have  gone  hopelessly  astray." 

He  was  standing  in  a  clearing  in  the  wood  where  Stirling  had 
left  him.  It  was  still  early  to  return  to  the  bungalow.  He  knew 
some  of  the  better-marked  tracks  in  the  forest  fairly  well  now,  and 
he  turned  down  one  of  these  which  led  to  the  river. 

He  rested  for  some  time  hoping  to  see  the  grey  motionless 
streak  which  marked  the  head  of  a  waiting  crocodile,  but  the  black 
waters  were  empty  of  living  things.  It  was  growing  dark  when  he 
came  to  the  village  again,  with  the  plumes  of  the  date  palms  hovering 
far  above  him  in  the  gloom  like  ominous  wings. 

Near  to  the  spot  where  he  had  seen  Mongulamba  hunched  up  in 
the  dust  he  met  the  Kruboy,  Kanga,  breathless  and  scared.  Stac- 
poole spoke  to  him  sharply. 

**  It  iss  Missy  Enid  !  "  he  panted — "  Gone  away — lost !  " 

Stacpoole  turned  in  sudden  fear.  "  What  new  devil's  business 
was  this  ?  "  he  asked  himself. 

Kanga's  vocabulary  was  of  the  sparsest,  but  he  made  himself 
clear.  Enid  had  disappeared,  leaving  no  trace  behind,  and  Stirling 
was  already  away  with  a  hastily  mustered  search  party. 

It  was  long  after  midnight  when  the  two  white  men  met  at  the 
bungalow,  each  having  taken  his  own  line  of  search  after  the  missing 
girl.  They  recognised  the  foil)'  of  wearing  their  strength  out  in  the 
blackness  of  the  jungle,  so  they  had  come  back  for  food  and  water. 
Now  they  lay  down  with  their  rifles  at  their  side  to  await  the  tardy 

When  the  first  streak  touched  the  little  window  they  were  ready, 
talking  in  hoarse  whispers.  Their  hope  rested  largely  on  the  sagacity 
of  the  Kruboy,  Kanga.  In  many  broken  words  he  had  already  com- 
municated to  Stirling  his  summing  up  of  the  situation.  It  was  the 
eve  of  the  great  sacrificial  feast  of  the  devil-worshipping  crew  to 
which  Mongulamba  belonged.  And  Mongulamba  had  gone  too. 
Stirling's  face  took  on  a  dull  greyish  hue  in  the  early  light.  He 
fingered  the  trigger  of  his  rifle  a  little  nervously.     If  that  and  all 

Digitized  by 



which  lay  behind  it  were  true,  he  would  gladly  have  compromised 
the  matter  by  putting  a  bullet  through  the  little  one's  heart  with  his 
own  hand. 

A  bitter  disappointment  was  in  store  for  the  searchers.  The 
men  whom  they  had  relied  upon  as  scouts  and  guides  had  all  dis- 
appeared. In  their  cooler  moments  the  terror  of  the  M'wiri  had 
reasserted  itself,  and  their  accustomed  haunts  knew  them  no  more. 
Kanga  alone  stood  firm.  For  the  moment  he  had  forgotten  the  god- 
beast  in  his  honest  solicitude  for  the  little  White  Lady  whom  he 
loved.  With  his  rifle  slung  on  his  shoulder  he  would  go  out  to  meet 
mortal  foes,  though  he  knew  them  to  be  in  numbers  which  would 
render  his  life  not  worth  a  pin's  fee,  without  one  single  backward 

Seeing  that  it  was  idle  to  attempt  to  get  together  a  stronger 
gathering,  Stacpoole  and  Stirling  took  a  plentiful  supply  of  cartridges 
and  set  their  faces  to  their  task.  It  was  a  heart-breaking  thing  to 
follow  the  Kruboy  through  the  thorny  tangle,  the  dark  lithe  form 
holding  on  its  way  unwaveringly,  following  some  unseen  track. 
There  was  consolation  in  this.  Kanga,  at  least,  knew  where  he  was 
going.  Many  times  the  two  lay  down  from  sheer  exhaustion,  but 
the  nameless  terror  in  their  hearts  forced  them  to  rise  almost 
instantly.  So,  torn  and  bleeding,  they  went  on  for  what  appeared 
to  be  days,  when  suddenly  Kanga  dropped  on  his  breast  and  lay 
still.  Stacpoole  seized  his  older  companion  and  helped  him 
forward,  and  together  they  lay  by  the  side  of  the  Kruboy,  choking 
back  their  sobbing  breath  and  watching  the  sweat  drop  from  their 
faces  upon  the  grass. 

A  sense  of  dreaminess  oppressed  Stacpoole.  Peering  through 
a  vista  in  the  dense  growth  he  could  only  make  out  the  scene  before 
him  little  by  little.  In  a  darkened  corner  of  the  jungle  where  the 
strong  sun  left  its  traces  only  in  the  dimmest  twilight,  he  saw 
figures  sitting.  They  appeared  to  be  grouped  about  a  circle  of  rude 
stones  heaped  in  strange  devices.  On  every  side  the  vegetation 
made  a  wall,  and  a  dense  canopy  of  interlaced  branches  stretched 
above  their  heads.  The  figures  were  so  motionless  that  it  was 
sometimes  hard  to  detach  them  from  the  grey  up-heaped  stones. 

In  the  centre  of  the  circle  there  appeared  to  be  a  stake  or  bare 
tree-trunk  from  which  a  slim  pale  form  depended. 

Stacpoole  wiped  the  moisture  from  his  eyes.  In  the  dimness 
and  utter  silence  the  feeling  of  unreality  deepened.  He  heard 
Stirling  fumbling  uneasily  with  the  lock  of  his  rifle.  The  old  man 
leaned  heavily  close  to  Stacpoole's  ear — 

"  Can  you  see  to  shoot  her  ?  "  he  said,  hoarsely.  **  We  can't 
leave  the  child  alive," 

Digitized  by 


THE    SATYR    MAN  145 

Stacpoole  assented.  It  was  plain  the  girl  must  not  be  left. 
At  the  first  shot  he  knew  there  would  be  a  straight  rush  for  their 
hiding-place.  The  three,  back  to  back,  might  hold  their  own  for 
a  little  while,  but  the  end  could  not  be  long  delayed.  Then  the 
girl  would  be  left  alive,  and  that  plainly  must  never  be.  He  must 
wait  a  little  for  his  trigger  finger  to  grow  steady;  he  was  still 
breathless  with  the  run.  And  when  at  length  he  knew  the  little 
one  to  be  safe  in  death,  then — oh,  then  to  let  hell  loose  for  so  long 
as  the  living  hand  could  cram  the  cartridge  into  the  breech  ! 

As  he  waited  the  savage  ranks  swayed  as  though  stirred  by  the 
wind.  A  new  figure  appeared  and  bent  before  the  altar.  At  a 
glance  Stacpoole  saw  him  to  be  the  mad  priest  Mongulamba 
whom  he  had  last  seen  crouched  in  the  village  dust.  He  appeared 
to  be  muttering  some  incantation  to  which  the  surrounding  group 
responded  by  a  swaying  motion  of  their  heads.  One  hand  was 
extended,  and  in  the  other  Stacpoole  caught  the  dim  gleam  of  a 

As  the  priest  knelt  murmuring  his  monotonous  chant,  some- 
thing moved  in  the  leaves  above  his  head.  One  or  two  of  the 
worshippers  turned  their  listless  gaze  upwards.  The  restless  stirring 
came  again.  Then  unreality  closed  in  upon  Stacpoole,  and  he  lost 
belief  in  his  eyes.  From  the  matted  mass  of  lianas  a  great  hairy 
foot  slowly  protruded — slowly  and  silently  like  some  hideous  piece 
of  mechanism  it  descended,  and  gathering  around  the  throat  of  the 
kneeling  man  drew  him  swiftly  upwards.  Stacpoole  saw  the  livid 
face  and  heard  the  crushing  bones,  and  in  a  moment  more  a  shape- 
less mass  fell  on  the  stones  below. 

The  whole  scene  was  enacted  with  incredible  celerity.  For  a 
while  the  savages  never  moved ;  then  one  stretched  out  his  hand 
and  took  up  a  broken  twig,  examining  it  curiously.  In  a  second 
more  the  spell  suddenly  dissolved,  wild  cries  filled  the  air,  and  the 
brushwood  was  torn  aside  by  a  hundred  flying  feet. 

Stacpoole  and  his  wife  rarely  speak  of  the  matter  now.  Some- 
times the  Professor  half  deludes  himself  that  he  was  the  victim  of 
some  fever- engendered  hallucination,  but  he  has  still  two  dead  men 
to  account  for. 

Enid,  on  the  other  hand,  stands  to  her  guns.  She  thinks, 
rightly  or  wrongly,  that  the  British  Association  have  not  yet 
succeeded  in  plucking  out  the  whole  heart  of  nature's  mystery  ; 
that  there  are  domains,  especially  in  West  Africa,  for  the  feet  of 
science  yet  to  tread, 

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THE    CRESTA     ON     A     RACB     DAY 


BY    MRS.    AUBREY    LE    BLOND 

(IVUh  Illustrations  from  her  Recent  Photographs) 

The  word  **  Toboggan  "  is  thought  to  have  originated  amongst  the 
Indians  of  North  America,  who  used  a  machine  thus  called  for 
dragging  their  baggage  from  camp  to  camp.  We  need  not  feel 
surprised  if,  even  in  summer,  a  wheelless  vehicle  was  employed,  as 
even  now  we  often  see  hay  being  transported  down  steep  slopes  of 
grass  in  Switzerland  on  hand  sleighs,  while  in  certain  places  it  is 
still  the  custom  for  visitors  who  have  ascended  on  foot  or  on  horseback 
to  noted  points  of  view  to  be  dragged  down  again  in  very  light 

The  Canadian  type  of  machine  is  flat,  without  runners;  and 
though  in  Switzerland  a  good  deal  of  enjoyment  may  be  got  out  of 
the  use  of  these  machines  over  suitable  slopes  of  snow,  yet  the  sport 
has  never  really  *' caught  on''  in  Europe.  Canadian  toboggans  can 
be  obtained  from  Knecht  of  Heme,  or  in  London  at  Gamage's  of 
High  Holborn. 

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A  far  more  costly  machine,  and  one  as  yet  only  to  be  found 
at  very  few  places  in  Switzerland,  is  the  modern  steel-skeleton 
toboggan.  This  was  evolved  by  an  Englishman,  Mr.  W.  H. 
Bulpett,  from  an  American  type,  of  which  more  anon.  The  Hon. 
H.  Gibson,  in  the  introduction  to  his  admirable  little  book,  "To- 
bogganing on  Crooked  Runs"  (Longmans,  Green  &  Co.),  says, 
quoting  the  words  of  a  well-known  hotel  keeper :  **  We  Swiss 
looked  upon  tobogganing  as  a  fitting  amusement  for  children  until 
you  Englishmen  came  among  us  and  made  of  it  a  sport  for  men ; 
now  you  have  gone  still  further — you  have  made  that  sport  an  art.'* 


So  spoke  Herr  Peter  Badrutt  while  addressing  the  St.  Moritz 
Tobogganing  Club  in  1894,  and  his  words  sum  up  shortly  the  way  a 
new  sport  has  arisen  in  the  Alps  of  Switzerland. 

I  do  not  propose  to  enter  at  any  great  length  into  the  history  of 
tobogganing  in  the  Engadine  and  at  Davos  ;  but  a  brief  account  of 
the  evolution  of  the  machine,  mode  of  riding,  and  making  of  suitable 
ice  runs,  will  I  think  be  of  interest.  Those  desiring  further  details 
can  find  them  in  Mr.  Gibson's  book  (referred  to  above),  or  in  that 
by  Mr.  T,  E.  Cook,  the  popular  and  scholarly  author  and  journalist, 
himself  a  tobogganer  of  experience. 

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In  1883  it  occurred  to  the  late  Mr.  John  Addington  Symonds 
that  it  would  be  interesting  to  institute  an  annual  toboggan  race  on 
the  high  road  between  Davos  and  Klosters.  Two  other  Englishmen, 
Messrs.  Horan  and  Broadbent,  entered  heartily  into  the  scheme, 
and  guaranteed  amongst  them  a  sufficient  sum  for  prizes.  The 
initial  race  was  run  on  February  12,  1883.  There  were  twenty-one 
competitors,  and  first  place  was  tied  for  by  Mr.  C.  Robertson,  an 
Australian,  and  P.  Minsch,  a  Swiss  postman,  whose  duties  caused 
him  often  to  thrust  himself  along  the  Klosters  road  with  the  pegs 
used  for  steering,  thereby  putting  him  in  splendid  training. 
German,  Dutch,  and  English  also  ran  in  it,  thus  suggesting  "The 
International  "  as  a  suitable  title,  and  one  that  it  has  borne  ever 
since.  By  the  following  year  it  became  evident  that  the  race  would 
be  a  permanent  annual  event,  so  Mr.  Symonds  presented  a  silver 
challenge  cup  to  be  added  to  the  first  prize. 

In  1885  another  race  was  instituted,  which  is  now  looked  upon 
as  the  sporting  event  of  greatest  importance  in  any  of  the  Alpine 
winter  resorts.  This  was  the  St.  Moritz  Grand  National,  and  it 
was  won  on  that  occasion  by  an  Englishman  from  Davos,  Mr.  C. 
Austin.  It  was  held  upon  the  now  famous  Cresta  course,  and,  as 
in  the  International,  all  the  competitors  rode  old-fashioned  Swiss 
coasters,  or  "  Schlittli,"  in  a  sitting  position. 

We  now  come  to  a  change  in  the  method  of  riding,  though  the 
machine  was  still  the  same.  The  St,  Moritz  Post,  in  its  report  of 
the  Grand  National  of  1887,  contains  the  following  remark: 
**  Mr.  Cornish  caused  the  chief  excitement  in  the  race  by  riding  his 
toboggan  head  first.  .  .  Hitherto  Mr.  Cornish  had  been  particu- 
larly successful  in  negotiating  the  difficulties  of  the  course,  and  had 
almost  succeeded  in  obtaining  converts  to  this  way  of  tobogganing, 
which  at  any  rate  has  the  charm  of  novelty.  Unfortunately  he 
came  to  grief  more  than  once  during  the  race,  though  the  extra- 
ordinary quickness  of  his  recovery  astonished  the  onlookers !  " 

The  winter  of  1887-88  marked  a  new  era  in  the  history  of 
tobogganing.  This  was  entirely  due  to  the  arrival  at  Davos  of  an 
American,  Mr.  L.  P.  Child,  of  New  York,  who  having  had  experi- 
ence of  coasting  at  home,  determined  to  try  it  at  Davos  on  a 
machine  of  the  type  he  was  used  to.  After  considerable  difficulty 
he  managed  to  get  one  built  at  Davos,  and  having  christened  it 
**  America,"  he  proceeded  to  demonstrate  the  advantage  of  it  over 
all  others.  He  rode  it  head-foremost,  but  lay  sideways,  American 
fashion,  and  not  flat  on  his  face.  He  won  the  International 
race  that  year,  held  on  the  Clavadel  and  not  the  Klosters  road,  and 
later  on  came  over  to  St.  Moritz  to  compete  on  the  Cresta.  But 
when  he  saw  the  course  he  decided  not  to  attempt  it.     Experience 

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has  shown  that  his  judgment  was  sound,  and  nobody  has  yet 
succeeded  in  taking  an  **  America  "  safely  through  the  Church  Leap 
under  the  conditions  under  which  Mr.  Child  rode,  lying  on  his  side 
and  steering  with  his  mocassined  foot. 

It  was  evident  that  the  head-first  position  demanded  braking 



power,  and  this  was  supplied  somewhat  later  by  steel  rakes  screwed 
to  the  boots. 

An  interesting  feature  of  this  race  was  that  two  "  Americas  " 
were  ridden  in  it,  one  by  Mr.  Cohen,  who  went  down  sitting  and 
proved  the  winner;  the  other  by  Mr.  Wilbraham,  who  adopted  the 
lying  posture,   but  fell.     The  5/.  Moritz  Post,  commenting  on  the 

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race,  remarked  that  it  was  evident  that  toboggans  of  the  **  America" 
type  were  unsuited  to  the  Cresta  run ! 

In  1889  the  International  was  again  won  by  an  American, 
Mr.  Stephen  Whitney,  riding  an  "  America "  head-first.  Three 
others  out  of  the  twenty-two  competitors  also  rode  "Americas," 
Mr.  Bulpett  adopting  the  sitting  posture. 

However,  St.  Moritz  had  by  this  time  decided  that  the  new 
machine  was  infinitely  safer  and  faster  over  any  course  than  the  old 
type,  **  and  in  a  race  on  the  Cresta,  run  on  January  26,  all  the 
seventeen  competitors  rode  *  Americas.' "  One  only,  Mr.  H.  \V. 
Topham,  dared  to  attempt  the  head-first  position,  but  he  was  very 


i  slow   in   one   run,    and    fell    in    both    the    others.     .  The    Grand 

I  National  of  that  year  was  won  by  Mr.  Vansittart  lying  on  a  queer 

j  machine,   a   sort    of    short    Canadian   with   spring   runners,    thus 

demonstrating  the  great  advantage  of  the  prone  position  on  a  low 
I  machine. 

j  The  year  following,  1889-90,  saw  another  development,  due  to 

the  new  and  costlier  machines  which  were  now  the  fashion.     That 
•  these  had  an  immense  advantage  over  the  **  hand-schlittli  "  was  fully 

I  proved,  and  as  Mr.  John  Addington  Symonds'  Cup  race  had  been 

instituted  to  encourage  the  native  element  on  their  everyday  sleds, 
j  it  seemed  unfair  that  this  new  element  should  deprive  them  of  all 

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chance  of  success.  So  it  was  decided  that  the  Symonds  Cup 
should  be  competed  for  only  on  Swiss  toboggans,  and  that  another 
race,  called  the  Symonds  Shield,  should  be  held  as  well,  open  to 
all  types  of  single  toboggans — if  approved  by  the  committee.  As 
the  sitting  position  was  not  compulsory — it  became  so  later — in  the 
Cuprace,  Mr.  Whitney  rode  a  *Muge"  head-foremost,  and  accom- 


plished  a  feat  never  since  repeated,  that  ot  winning  both  the  Cup 
and  the  Shield  races. 

The  Grand  National  of  this  season  was  noteworthy,  for  all  the  ^ 

fourteen  riders  except  one  rode  head-first.  % 

NO.  cxxvii.    VOL,  JOUL— February  i^  L  % 

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1891-92  was  marked  by  an  extraordinary  series  of  successes  by 
a  single  rider,  Mr.  H.  W.  Topham,  who  won  nearly  everything  that 
could  be  won,  including  the  Davos  International  and  the  St.  Moritz 
Grand  National.  His  victories  also  marked  the  beginning  of  a 
new  era,  that  of  the  steel-skeleton  toboggan,  which  with  the 
sliding  seat  introduced  a  few  years  ago  is  the  machine  in  use  at  the 
present  day.  It  was  the  invention  of  Mr.  \V.  H.  Bulpett,  and  was 
constructed  throughout  of  the  best  English  steel. 

No  other  ice-run  of  at  all  the  same  importance  as  the  Cresta 
has  as  yet  been  constructed  anywhere.     The  next  best  is  the  Village 

ANOTHER    VIEW    OF    THE    FINISH     OF    THE    CRBSTA,     AND    ALSO    OF    THE    BOB-RUN 

run  at  St.  Moritz.  This  is  one  also  at  Davos  Platz  and  one  at 

For  a  number  of  years  visitors  to  the  Engadine  in  winter  were 
quite  satisfied  either  to  toboggan  on  the  high  roads,  or  else  to  ride 
over  snowy  meadows  on  tracks  beaten  down  simply  by  the  passage 
of  the  machines. 

I  have  seen  the  whole  evolution  of  modern  tobogganing  in 
Switzerland,  and  well  remember  the  problems  which  had  to  be 
solved  when  great  bumps  and  holes  formed  in  these  snowy  runs, 
as  they  did  more  and  more  when  the  number  of  visitors  using 
them  increased.  Finally  it  became  clear  that  there  was  only  one 
way  to  keep  a  much-used  run  in  working  order,  and  that  was  to 

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ice  it.  St.  Moritzers  had  always  a  fancy  for  courses  with  sharp 
corners,  lending  variety  to  the  sport,  and  calling  for  skill  in  the 
riders,  so  the  evolution  of  a  crooked  ice-run  out  of  a  winding  one 
of  snow   rapidly  came  about. 

The  engineering  and  the  construction  of  the  now  famous  Cresta 
run  took  some  years  to  perfect,  but  in  1894  Mr.  Bulpett  had  given 
tobogganers  a  course  much  as  it  is  to-day.  The  length  of  the 
Cresta  is  three-quarters  of  a  mile,  with  a  fall  of  600  ft.,  giving  a 
gradient  of  about  i  in  8.  In  1900  two  riders,  one  a  Swiss,  the  other 
an  Englishman,  covered  50  measured  yards  at  the  rate  of  75  miles 
an  hour,  their  times  being  recorded  by  an  electric  timing  machine. 

MR.     W.     H.    BULPETT,    THS    ORIGINAL    ARCHITECT    OF    THE     RUN.     WATCHING    THE    WORK 
ON    IT,    ON    HIS    RETURN    TO    ST.    MORITZ    IN     I905 

Directly  the  first  winter  fall  of  snow  takes  place  at  St.  Moritz 
the  construction  of  the  Cresta  commences,  though  much  of  the 
course  has  been  laid  out  in  summer  by  raised  banks  of  earth  and 
the  removal  of  any  obstacles  likely  to  injure  a  rider  who  falls  over 
a  corner.  The  course  is  made  from  the  bottom  upwards,  allowing 
sections  to  be  opened  as  soon  as  each  is  ready,  and  facilitating  the 
study  of  the  run  on  the  part  of  beginners.  There  is  a  path  near 
the  run,  so  that  riders  may  walk  up  and  examine  the  various  diffi- 
culties the  Cresta  presents,  and  consider  how  best  to  overcome  them. 
The  practised  and  skilful  tobogganer  will  use  his  rakes  as  little  as 

L  a 

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possible  for  guiding,  what  is  called  "  body  steering  "  interfering  far 
less  with  the  pace.  At  the  end  of  the  run  is  a  steep  bit  of  uphill 
(after  the  winning  post  is  past),  and  here  it  is  always  necessary  to 
brake  hard,  as  otherwise  rider  and  machine  fly  up  into  the  air  on 
reaching  the  top.     On  one  occasion,  in  1900,  for  purposes  of  photo- 


graphy,    Mr.    Spence   allowed    himself  to   shoot  forward  with  the 
utmost  velocity,  making  a  clear  jump  of  66  ft. ! 

Not  many  ladies  attempt  the  Cresta,  but  all  who  do  adopt  the 
lying  flat  position.  The  children  often  ride  admirably,  and  on 
account  of  their  light  weights  and  fearlessness  they  frequently  run 

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their  elders  very  close  indeed.  Mr.  Ralph  Pulitzer,  of  New  York, 
as  a  boy  was  one  of  the  b^st  riders  at  St.  Moritz,  as  was  Captain 
Dwyer  when  a  child ;  and  Lady  Rachel  Saunderson's  little  girls,  the 
youngest  of  whom  was  only  seven,  did  excellent  times  and  rode  with 
skill,  intelligence,  and  pluck. 

During  the  season  of  1900  a  lady  for  the  first  time  on  record 
won  her  colours.  Miss  Lorna  Robertson,  of  Australia,  making  the 
fine  time  of  74I  sec,  a  record  frequently  beaten  by  her  in  practice. 
Miss  Robertson's  father,  an  old  Oxford  Blue,  was  the  first  to  start 
the  idea  of  theCresta  run,  and  he  and  Mr.  Harold  Freeman,  son  of 
the  great  historian,  and  himself  also  an  old  Oxford  Blue,  may  be 
looked  upon  as  the  pioneers  of  the  sport  as  it  now  obtains  in 
Switzerland.  Mr.  Freeman  still  winters  at  Davos  Dorf,  where  the 
Sports  Hotel  Fluela  Post  is  thronged  by  the  healthy  portion  of 
visitors  to  that  resort.  In  January,  1906,  Mr.  Freeman  was  orga- 
nising tobogganing  v^nth  even  more  energy  than  twenty  years  earlier, 
and  himself  making  excellent  times  on  the  famous  Kloster  course. 

The  length  of  an  ordinary  steel-skeleton  (as  the  machine  is  now 
called)  is  4  ft.  i  in.  over  all  at  the  top,  length  of  each  runner  on  the 
ground  3  ft.  6  in.,  with  spring  of  10  millimMres,  breadth  from  centre 
to  centre  of  runners  12  in.,  height  (without  the  cushion)  5  in.  Round 
runners  16  millimetres  thick.  The  runners  are  joined  together  above 
by  three  steel  bars.  A  cushioned  board  is  laid  on  the  top,  made  so 
as  to  slide  backwards  or  forwards  at  will.  The  top  bars  at  the  side 
of  the  front  of  the  machine  are  bound  with  leather  to  give  a  good  j 

grip  for  the  hands.      A  man  lying  flat  on  the  board  should  have  I 

his  chin  just  on  a  level  with  the  front  bar,  and  his  knees  resting  ^ 

on  the  projecting  end  of  the  cushioned  platform.     The  rider  wears  1 

very  thick  cloth  gloves,  and  pads  on  knees  and  elbows.     Steel  rakes 
are  screwed  to  his  boots.     They  project  round  a  steel  toe-cap,  and  I 

it  is  most  important  before  beginning  each  run  to  see  that  this  is  j 

firmly  attached. 


[This   article   has    been   read    and    approved    by    Mr.    Bott,  I 

the  well-known  tobogganer,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  perusing  | 

it.— E.  Le  B.]  i 


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BY     F.     W.     MILLARD 

The  profession  of  gamekeeper  is  not  exactly  of  the  most  lucrative 
description,  but  for  many  reasons  it  has  always  held  out  attractions 
to  young  men  of  all  classes  fond  of  the  open  air  who  find  it  difficult 
to  secure  congenial  employment  in  other  walks  of  life.  For  all  this, 
keepers  born,  bred,  and  trained  to  the  calling  have  never  had  to 
face  serious  competition  from  other  than  their  own  circle ;  and  as 
head  keepers  necessarily  train  their  under-men,  it  stands  to  reason 
that  they  occupy  the  unique  position  of  being  able  to  dictate  who 
shall  and  who  shall  not  be  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  their 
calling.  Into  no  other  profession  is  it  so  difficult  to  obtain  an 
insight ;  for  a  gamekeeper,  to  assure  success,  needs  to  be  coached  by 
a  competent  man  in  charge  of  an  estate  where  game  preservation 
is  carried  on.  There  are  no  other  means  of  obtaining  the  necessary 
knowledge.  A  man  intent  on  becoming  a  keeper  may  consider  it 
sufficient  to  serve  an  apprenticeship  on  an  up-to-date  game  farm, 
but  there  he  can  learn  only  the  rearing  of  pheasants  and  their 
management  in  confinement,  and  leaves  as  ignorant  as  ever  of  the 
multitudinous  duties  which  a  trained  keeper  is  expected  to  perform, 
the  principal  of  which  are   the   trapping  of  vermin,  the   care  and 

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training  of  dogs,  the  organisation  of  shooting  parties,  and  last,  but 
not  least,  how  to  comport  himself  towards  gentlemen  in  the  field. 

Some  years  ago  the  question  of  the  employment  of  gentlemen 
gamekeepers  became  a  topic  of  serious  discussion  in  a  leading 
sporting  journal,  and  the  strongest  argument  advanced  in  their 
favour  seemed  to  be  that  a  man  of  education  ought  naturally  to 
bring  to  bear  upon  the  performance  of  his  duties  an  acumen  gene- 
rally lacking  in  the  case  of  an  uneducated  man.  The  subject  was 
dealt  with  from  every  point  of  view  except  that  of  the  practical 
keeper,  who,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  was  content  to  stand  aside  and 
laugh  at  even  the  idea  of  "gentlemen"  gamekeepers.  In  fact,  in 
that  word  rests  the  crux  of  the  whole  question ;  for  it  is  seldom  a 
keeper  who  answers  to  that  description  can  forget  that  he  has  been 
born  and  bred  a  gentleman,  and  is  willing  to  turn  to  and  do  the  hard 
and  often  disagreeable  work  which  falls  to  the  lot  of  every  keeper, 
whatever  the  nature  of  his  charge.  To  be  a  success  he  must  sink 
the  gentleman  and  never  forget  that  he  is  a  servant ;  in  this  he  will 
find  rests  his  greatest  trouble. 

There  is  not  the  slightest  reason  why  an  educated  man  should 
not  become  a  keeper,  granted  that  he  likes  the  life,  is  healthy  and 
strong,  and  able  to  content  himself  in  so  humble  a  sphere ;  if  he 
is  willing  to  sink  all  ambition  he  will  find  much  to  be  thankful  for, 
even  as  a  keeper,  and  as  a  reward  there  is  always  the  satisfaction 
which  never  fails  to  follow  upon  a  duty  well  performed.  In  the 
keeper's  profession  there  is  plenty  of  room  for  brains  and  education, 
but  not  the  slightest  for  what  is  vulgarly  but  expressively  termed 
"  side."  If  he  cannot  shake  himself  free  of  this  the  gentleman 
keeper  will  never  be  a  success,  and  he  must  not  lose  sight  of  the 
fact  that  what  would  certainly  not  be  described  as  "side"  in  a 
gentleman  might  be  given  a  worse  name  in  the  case  of  a  keeper. 
If  a  man  of  education  is  able  to  dismiss  all  social  aspirations  and  is 
satisfied  to  allow  his  duties  to  absorb  his  whole  attention,  he  will 
find  life  go  very  pleasantly  as  a  keeper. 

There  is  no  disputing  the  fact  that  gentlemen  keepers  have  so 
far  not  been  a  marked  success,  and  it  may  be  because  they  start  in 
entirely  the  wrong  way.  For  one  thing,  the  men  who  turn  attention 
to  this  mode  of  earning  a  living  too  often  do  so  as  a  last  resort ;  but 
failures  at  everything  else  are  hardly  likely  to  succeed  even  as  game- 
keepers, and  it  is  scarcely  the  right  thing  to  base  an  opinion  of 
gentlemen  keepers  upon  that  measure  of  success  which  has  so  far 
attended  their  efforts. 

It  is  of  little  use  for  a  man  to  decide  to  be  a  keeper  when  he 
has  already  tried  and  failed  at  half  a  dozen  other  things,  for  the 
probability  is  he  will  already  be  considerably  advanced  in  years  and 

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have  lost  what  may  be  styled  adaptability.  He  must  start  young, 
or  he  will  lack  the  enterprise  and  enthusiasm  required  to  carry  him 
through  the  lower  grades  of  the  calling  and  to  enable  him  to  brave 
their  difficulties.  Disgust  is  more  likely  to  arise  in  the  case  of  a 
man  of  thirty-five  than  in  that  of  one  of  twenty.  A  man  must  first 
rid  himself  of  an  idea  that  an  all-round  knowledge  of  sport  is 
sufficient  to  warrant  his  undertaking  the  responsibilities  of  a  keeper. 
If  he  starts  with  this  opinion  he  will  quickly  discover  his  mistake. 
He  may  be  a  proficient  shot,  and  understand  how  to  handle  and 
use  a^gun ;  but  this  comes  under  the  head  of  the  destruction  of  game, 
and  the  aim  of  every  keeper  is  its  production.  Also,  he  must  not 
take  up  a  keeper's  work  with  the  belief  that  he  will  get  any  amount 
of  sport,  for  such  is  by  no  means  the  case  if  sport  with  him  means 
unlimited  shooting.  Shooting  he  will  get,  of  a  sort  and  to  a  certain 
extent,  but  if  he  considers  the  gun  the  principal  tool  he  will  have  to 
use  he  will  not  long  hold  a  place.  If  he  expects  leniency  in  this 
regard  because  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  possibly  of  social  status  equal 
to  his  employer,  he  will  not  obtain  it ;  for  a  too  free  use  of  a  gun  is  an 
oifence  no  employer  will  condone  in  any  keeper.  The  keeper's  work 
is  to  provide  sport,  not  take  it,  and  it  is  because  he  does  not  properly 
grasp  this  point  that  the  gentleman  keeper  fails.  Of  course,  a  keeper 
does  get  plenty  of  sport,  but  it  is  extracted  from  the  trapping  of 
vermin,  snaring  of  rabbits,  etc.,  and  what  he  derives  from  the  gun  is 
really  not  worth  consideration. 

It  is  perfectly  possible  to  be  a  servant  and  a  gentleman,  for  there 
are  many  such,  although  they  may  lack  education  and  accomplish- 
ments ;  but  the  chief  stumbling-block  of  the  gentleman  keep^er  is  that 
he  cannot  forget  his  social  status.  This  leads  him  into  all  sorts 
of  difficulties.  First  of  all  he  is  apt  to  feel  aversion  to  his  helpers, 
who  are  ordinary  under-keepers,  and,  although  trained  and  com- 
petent men  (perhaps  to  a  far  greater  extent  than  himselQ,  inclined 
to  take  what  he  considers  liberties.  These  men  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  work  beneath  the  direction  of  an  ordinary  head  keeper, 
whose  relations  with  them  have  been  characterised  by  chumminess, 
and  they  resent  the  superior  airs  adopted  by  their  present  chief. 
This  difficulty  he  would  overcome  in  time  by  treating  his  assistants 
firmly  and  kindly  ;  but  he  too  often  gets  rid  of  the  lot,  and  engages 
in  their  stead  men  similar  to  himself.  Now,  if  a  trained  head 
keeper  is  unable  to  dispense  with  the  services  of  trained  men,  it  is 
certain  a  chief  lacking  a  life's  experience  cannot.  The  latter  may 
replace  the  bond-fide  keepers  by  engaging  men  with  whom  he  is  able 
to  associate ;  but  can  he  be  sure  that  they  will  be  as  efficient  at  their 
work,  and  is  it  not  likely  that  beneath  their  care  the  estate  will 
quickly  deteriorate  as  regards  game  ? 

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Many  sportsmen  object  to  a  gentleman  keeper  because  they  feel 
the  impossibility  of  treating  him  as  a  servant,  and  have  no  desire  to 
receive  him  as  an  equal.  When  a  servant  is  required  they  prefer  to 
engage  one  who  will  be  a  servant  in  every  particular,  and  not 
presume  on  a  past  position.  If  a  gentleman  keeper  attempts  this  he 
will  soon  be  voted  a  nuisance.  A  servant  he  is,  and  must  be,  and  no 
intermediate  position  is  satisfactory  to  both  parties.  If  a  gentleman 
requiring  such  a  post  is  fortunate  enough  to  secure  an  engagement  as 
keeper  he  is  apt  to  become  dispirited  by  the  harshness  with  which  he 
is  treated  by  those  above  him.  This  occurs  because  they  anticipate 
that  he  may  presume,  and  measures  are  adopted  to  check  the  slightest 
advance  in  that  direction.  In  such  a  case  his  relations  with  his  em- 
ployer may  never  reach  the  free  and  easy  state  which  generally  marks 
those  of  a  gentleman  and  an  ordinary  keeper. 

A  gentleman  keeper  must  also  be  extremely  careful  with  regard 
to  his  relations  with  tenant  farmers.  These  most  of  all  resent  the 
slightest  inclination  towards  superiority  on  his  part,  and  will  mani- 
fest that  resentment  in  an  exceedingly  unpleasant  manner.  Usually 
the  tenantry  upon  an  estate  look  upon  the  head  keeper  as  their  social 
inferior,  and  if  the  gentleman  keeper  is  conscious  of  a  similar  tendency 
he  had  best  grin  and  bear  it  for  the  sake  of  his  game.  If  he  is  careful, 
relations  will  soon  improve,  and  he  will  gain  amongst  the  farmers 
many  firm  and  valued  friends. 

His  duty  to  both  his  employer  and  assistants  is  not  only  to 
direct  the  latter,  but  actually  to  work  with  them.  Get  rid  of  the 
impression  that  a  head  keeper  really  enjoys  an  easy  time  directing 
the  doings  of  others,  for  a  lot  of  the  hard  and  dirty  work  falls  to  his 
share,  and  for  many  reasons  must  receive  his  personal  attention.  If 
he  shirks,  things  are  sure  to  go  wrong.  As  a  too  free  use  of  the 
gun  often  lands  a  gentleman  keeper  in  trouble  with  his  employer,  so 
does  a  mistaken  idea  of  what  his  horse  is  provided  for.  A  horse  is 
to  take  the  keeper  about  the  estate  more  speedily,  and  not  to  take  him 
off  it  on  every  occasion.  It  may  seem  hard  lines  to  be  compelled  to 
hold  a  horse  back  when  hounds  leave  a  covert  at  full  speed  on  the 
trail  of  a  fox,  but  a  keeper's  duty  does  not  lie  with  the  pack;  it  is  his 
to  remain  behind  and  see  that  his  woods  are  clear  of  the  roughs  who 
are  always  glad  to  make  a  visit  of  hounds  an  excuse  for  entering. 

If  a  man  of  good  breeding  and  education  is  desirous  of  being  a 
keeper,  and  a  successful  keeper  at  that,  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to 
begin  on  the  lowest  rung  of  the  ladder,  and  while  gradually  working 
up  accumulate  the  knowledge  necessary  to  his  purpose.  This  will 
necessitate  his  starting  as  an  assistant  on  an  estate,  where  he  must 
make  up  his  mind  to  serve  faithfully  and  obey  the  head  keeper ;  he 
cannot  escape  closely  associating  with  the  other  under-men,  and  it  is 

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hoped  will  soon  recognise  the  folly  of  despising  those  from  whom  he 
must  learn.  Should  any  of  them  be  low-minded  it  will  be  better  for 
him  to  use  his  influence  in  reforming  them  rather  than  adopt  the 
doubtful  course  of  ignoring  them.  For  a  time  he  must  be  content 
with  their  company,  and  seek  to  drown  all  feelings  of  antipathy  in 
continual  attention  to  duty.  With  a  firm  purpose  in  this  direction 
he  will  eventually  earn  their  respect.  A  dandy  he  should  never  be ; 
there  is  a  vast  difference  between  this  and  scrupulous  neatness  and 
cleanliness,  and  if  he  is  required  to  wear  livery,  let  him  strive  to  wear 
it  with  a  dignity  such  as  it  has  never  been  worn  with  before.  If  he 
regards  his  livery  as  a  soldier  does  his  uniform — that  is,  as  something 
never  to  be  disgraced — he  is  not  likely  to  be  ashamed  of  wearing  it. 

Should  a  man  of  good  breeding  succeed  as  a  keeper  he  will  enjoy 
the  satisfaction  of  being  independent  of  others  for  support,  will  lead 
a  healthy  life,  and  feel  that  he  is  doing  his  duty,  even  if  he  does 
occupy  but  a  minor  position.  Wealthy  he  is  not  likely  to  be,  but  a 
competence  may  be  saved  against  old  age.  The  best  position  he  can 
secure  is  that  of  head  keeper  on  a  big,  well-preserved  estate,  and  this 
even  only  yields  a  moderate  salary.  It  may  be  sufficient  for  his  own 
needs,  but  he  will  be  wise  not  to  induce  a  lady  of  his  previous  circle 
to  share  it  with  him.  Such  a  step  will  surely  lead  to  untold  misery 
both  to  her  and  him.  He  may  not  chafe  at  his  position,  but  such  a 
wife  most  assuredly  will. 

The  writer  of  the  foregoing  has  had  much  experience  of  keepers, 
well-bred,  educated,  and  otherwise,  and  a  perusal  of  what  is  here  set 
forth  may  serve  to  prevent  many  a  young  man  from  attempting  a 
calling  for  which  he  is  not  fitted,  while  it  may  encourage  those  of 
the  right  sort  to  go  in  and  win. 

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A    YEAR 

BV    LILIAN    E.    BLAND 


For  some  time  one  of  my  ambitions  had  been  to  ride  for  a  good 

English  dealer  in  the  Shires,  but  amongst  all  my  "horsey"  friends  f. 

I    could   find  no  one  who  knew  such  a  dealer  sufficiently  for  my 

purpose.     The  Fates,  however,  were  kind  to  me.     One  summer  in 

Worcestershire  I  met  some  hunting  people;   as  it  happened  they  ^] 

knew  Mr.   Darby  of  Hillmorton  very  well,  and  gave  me  a  letter  of 

introduction.     I   wrote   stating    the    plain   facts,   that   horses   and 

hunting  were  the  only  things  I  cared  about,  that  I  could  not  afford 

these  luxuries  unless  someone  mounted  me,  and  that   I  had  been 

schooling  young  horses  for  dealers  in  Ireland. 

I  sent  this  epistle  off  without  the  faintest  hope  of  a  favourable 
answer,  so  my  delight  and  astonishment  can  be  imagined  when  I 
heard  by  return  that  Mr.  Darby  would  be  pleased  to  mount  me,  but 
that  his  horses  were  all  trained  hunters.  I  regarded  this  letter  with 
awe  as  a  kind  of  **  spook  "  that  might  vanish,  or  turn  into  words  of 
polite  refusal ;  the  luck  seemed  to  be  too  good  to  be  true,  especially 

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as  my  hunting  friend,  never  having  seen  me  ride,  very  naturally 
refused  to  say  anything  about  my  qualifications. 

Still  meditating  on  my  good  fortune,  I  went  off  to  play  Bridge 
with  some  friends  staying  at  the  hotel,  and  as  we  were  talking  in 
the  gardens  a  fussy  motor  whizzed  up,  and  half  in  fun  I  said  that  I 
would  like  to  "hold  it  up"  and  go  over  to  Rugby.  A  lady  of  the 
party  asked  me  if  I  really  would  hold  up  a  strange  car,  and  I  laugh- 
ingly told  her  that  I  had  done  so  more  than  once  in  Ireland,  where- 
upon she  vanished  into  the  house,  returning  a  few  minutes  afterwards 
calmly  to  announce  that,  liking  unconventional  people,  she  had 
asked  the  owner  of  the  machine  to  take  me  to  Rugby ;  he  said  he 
would  be  delighted,  and   they  were  waiting  for  me  to  start.     In 


another  five  minutes  I  was  whizzing  along  with  three  unknown 
companions  towards  the  goal  of  my  ambitions.  The  chauifeur  was 
youthful  and  reckless,  he  had  only  just  learnt  to  handle  a  motor, 
and  wanted  to  show  off  her  paces,  which  he  did  at  the  rate  of 
forty  miles  an  hour.  It  was  a  most  exciting  drive  entirely ;  only  a 
special  providence  kept  the  car  right  side  up,  and  ourselves  inside  it. 
All  went  well,  however,  until  we  had  passed  Rugby,  when  the 
machine  broke  down  hopelessly,  and  as  I  was  not  far  from  Hillmor- 
ton  I  walked  on,  interviewed  Mr.  Darby,  and  was  shown  some  of  the 
horses — beautiful  types  of  well-bred,  compact  weight-carriers,  up  to 
14  stone  and  over,  standing  on  an   average  16.1  h.,  although  one 

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did  not  realise  their  height,  they  were  such  grand  make  and  shape  ; 
a  well-made  polo  pony  turned  into  a  16  h.  hunter  best  describes  the 
type  of  the  majority.  They  were  a  pleasure  to  look  at,  and,  as  I  have 
since  discovered,  a  pleasure  to  ride,  which  is  not  always  the  case 
with  good-looking  animals ;  but  Mr.  Darby  will  never  buy  a  hunter 
unless  it  has  perfect  mouth  and  manners,  and  these  qualities  added 
to  the  type  of  horse  that  fills  his  stables  have  justly  given  him  the 
reputation  of  turning  out  the  best  hunters  in  the  Shires. 

Four  months  later  saw  me  ensconced  in  my  rooms  at  Rugby, 
feeling,  I  must  own,  a  trifle  lonely  and  *'  Ireland  sick,"  though  my 
spirits  were  somewhat  revived  by  the  landlady  giving  me  peat  to 
burn,  for  the  smell  was  joy  to  my  nose.   In  the  interval  of  three  days 


before  my  first  hunt  I  made  my  sitting-room  presentable;  and  having 
cleared  out  dozens  of  horrible  ornaments,  I  found  stowed  away  in  an 
old  cupboard  some  beautiful  china — old  blue,  Sevres,  and  Wedgwood; 
also  a  Chippendale  table,  and  some  old  silver ;  so  that  my  time  was 
pleasantly  occupied  in  cleaning  them  up. 

My  first  hunt  was  with  the  Atherstone  at  Newbold  Revel.  I  had 
meekly  requested  to  be  put  *'  up  "  on  something  that  would  teach  me 
the  timber  trade,  and  was  mounted  on  a  big  brown  mare  up  to  any 
weight.  As  I  ride  9  st.  6  lb.  with  the  saddle,  etc.,  thrown  in,  I  am  not 
quite  sure  she  realised  there  was  anyone  in  the  saddle. 

The  first  objects  that  struck  my  attention  going  to  the  meet 

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were  numerous  little  red  boards,  which  I  learnt  spelt  "  wire."  At  the 
meet  the  big  crowd  rather  alarmed  me ;  but  thank  heaven  they  do 
not  ride  like  an  Irish  field,  or  there  would  be  none  of  them  left  alive 
to  tell  the  tale. 

The  small  regiment  of  grooms  carrying  their  respective  owners' 
lunches,  some  of  them  top-hat,  cockaded  infants,  looked  really  too 
ridiculous  in  the  hunting  field.  Of  course  in  Ireland  we  do  not  have 
second  and  third  horsemen  chivvying  us  round  the  country;  we  are 
more  like  Mr.  Snaffle.  **  *  How  many  sound  *osses  have  you  ?  * 
'  None,  sir,'  replied  Snaffle,  confidently.  *  How  many  three-legged 
'uns  have  you  that  can  go,  then  ?  '  '  Oh,  a  good  many ;  that's  to  say 
two  and  three  legged  'uns,  at  least.'      'Ah,  well,'  said  Watchorn, 

A    GOOD    TYPE— BOUGHT    FOR    /■4OO 

*  that'll  do — two  legs  are  too  many  for  some  of  the  rips  they'll 
have  to  carry.' "  One  also  missed  the  friendly  chaff  and  banter,  horse 
coping,  and  cheery  greeting;  even  when  men  in  the  Shires  shoot 
over  their  horses'  heads  they  do  it  in  a  polite  ceremonious  fashion, 
without  "language"  apparently.  How  John  Watson  would  make 
them  sit  up ! 

It  is  sometimes  long  odds  against  getting  a  good  start,  especially 
if  the  only  way  out  of  the  field  happens  to  be  a  narrow  gateway. 
I  was  of  course  very  keen  to  see  the  country  and  fences,  having  had 
extremely  vague  replies  to  my  questions  on  the  subject.  One 
M.F.H.  told  me  that  ''any  fool  could  ride  in  the  Shires."     Cer- 

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tainly  ignorance  is  bliss  on  a  good  horse,  and  one  often  sees  people 
who  know  nothing  about  the  game  going  well  more  by  luck  than 
anything  else  ;  but  as  a  rule  a  few  falls  soon  sober  their  enthusiasm. 
I  imagine,  however,  that  the  Master  referred  to  the  lines  of  gates, 
although  gate-opening  seems  to  be  an  art  in  itself;  personally  I 
cordially  detest  gates  unless  some  kind  person  is  holding  them  open, 
and  one  happens  to  be  the  first  through,  in  which  case  you  can 
think  **  Now  we'll  all  start  fair,  you  tinkers  !  *'  knowing  that  it  will 
take  at  least  five  minutes  for  the  crowd  behind  to  extricate  them- 
selves from  a  bumping  mass. 

On  the  occasion  of  my  first  hunt  we  were  all  jammed  into  a 
narrow  road,  hounds  opened  in  covert  at  once,  and  a  feeble  "  toot  " 


announced  the  "  gone  away  '*  (very  different  from  the  blood-curdling 
screams  of  the  Tipps).  A  regular  stampede  followed,  sounding  like  the 
thunder  of  an  avalanche,  and  one  got  carried  along,  feeling  as  help- 
less as  the  pigs  possessed  of  the  devil,  and  by  the  time  one  got  clear 
of  the  crowd  hounds  were  racing  three  fields  ahead  with  a  scent 
they  could  eat. 

Small  thorn  hedges,  a  few  with  a  ditch,  were  the  order  of  the 
day,  and  I  made  my  first  acquaintance  with  ridge  and  furrow,  which 
is  like  plunging  over  a  choppy  sea ;  one  also  had  to  steer  through 
innumerable  ant-heaps  and  mole-hills ;  and  although  the  country 
rode  wonderfully  light,  it  is  harder  work  riding  than  it  is  in  Ireland, 
chiefly,  I  suppose,  because  the  fields  are  bigger  and  the  fences  are 
jumped  bigger.    One  is  galloping  all  the  time;  it  is  not  a  case  of 

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pulling  back  to  a  trot  or  walk  to  '*  negotiate  "  them,  and  of  course 
the  hounds  with  a  good  scent  are  much  faster.  With  one  short 
check  crossing  the  railway  they  ran  to  ground  a  seven-mile  point 
in  45  min. 

A  good  authority  told  me  that  only  lo  per  cent,  of  the  crowd 
really  ride  to  hounds ;  and,  as  some  wise  person  remarked,  there  is 
always  plenty  of  room  in  front.  If  one  can  escape  the  numerous 
railways  and  canals  it  is  a  glorious  country  to  ride  over  on  a  good 
horse;  a  bad  one  I  should  think  would  be  useless,  as  the  fences 
take  some  jumping.  Not  a  few  of  the  thorn  hedges  are  very  blind 
and  straggly,  and  one  requires  a  clean,  bold  fencer  who  will  not 
only  jump  big  but  jump  on  ;  clean  timber  in  the  shape  of  rails,  and 
what  I  believe  are  called  binders,  seem  to  be  the  typical  fences.     In 


a  fast  hunt  with  the  Pytchley  from  Shawell  Wood  we  had  a  most 
pernicious  line  of  timber,  and  people  were  falling  with  crashes  at 
every  fence.  One  uninviting  obstacle  consisted  of  a  wide  ditch,  a 
bank  riddled  with  rabbit  holes,  with  a  binder  hedge  on  the  top,  and 
I  was  delighted  to  see  the  horse  in  front  sit  down  on  the  hedge, 
which  took  the  starch  out  of  it  nicely.  Two  gallant  "  craners,"  if 
I  may  use  the  expression,  galloping  at  the  fence  both  swerved  into 
the  ditch  on  top  of  each  other. 

One  sees  many  amusing  incidents,  and  it  is  extraordinary  how 
some  people  will  follow  anyone  who  is  galloping,  with  no  idea  of 
where  the  hounds  are.  The  other  day  I  had  just  changed  on  to  a 
fresh  horse;  hounds  were  away  on  a  screaming  scent  soon  afterwards. 

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All  went  well  at  first  until  I  let  my  steed  out  over  a  big  field,  when  I 
discovered  there  was  a  difference  of  opinion  between  us.  The  only 
jumpable  place  was  blocked  by  four  or  five  people  waiting  their  turn 
to  get  over,  and  not  wishing  to  be  had  up  for  their  premature  decease, 
I  was  obliged  to  pull  off  and  charge  downhill,  with  my  back  to 
hounds.  Three  or  four  men,  evidently  not  hearing  the  language  I 
was  talking  to  my  horse,  turned  and  followed !  Having  finally 
pulled  up  on  the  top  of  a  hill,  I  was  rewarded  with  a  bird's-eye  view 
of  the  hunt.  The  hounds  were  hunting  beautifully  by  themselves, 
and  the  proverbial  sheet  might  really  have  covered  them.  The  sur- 
rounding fields  in  all  directions  were  dotted  with  scarlet  and  black 
coated  sportsmen,  and  they  must  have  spread  out  over  several  miles 
of  country. 

A    BOLD    jumper;     THIS    WAS    A    BLIND    FBNCB    AT    LBAST    6  FT.     HIGH 

The  Hillmorton  Brook  also  affords  plenty  of  amusement. 
It  is  not  wider  than  a  Meath  drain,  but  the  sides  are  rather 
soft,  and  some  time  after  the  hounds  and  most    of   the  field  had  ^ 

crossed  it  a  head  and  shoulders  were  visible  above  the  bank.  A 
horse  had  gone  in,  refused  to  jump  out  the  right  side  and  continue, 
and  the  effect  was  very  quaint.  At  the  same  brook,  which  we 
crossed  the  other  day  with  the  North  Warwick,  a  man  had  an 
extraordinary  escape  from  a  nasty  accident.  His  horse  jumped  on 
to  a  pole  that  was  sticking  up  in  the  ground  on  the  landing  side ; 
the  pole  was  five  feet  long,  and  it  went  between  the  animal's  fore 
legs,  through  the  martingale,  and  out  through  the  girths.  The 
NO.  cxxvii.    VOL.  7LX11,— February  1906  M 

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rider  got  a  fearful  shock,  because  he  thought  the  rest  of  the  pole 
had  staked  the  horse  through  ;  fortunately  both  came  off  scatheless. 
Rugby  is  a  good  hunting  centre,  four  packs  generally  being 
within  easy  distance.  The  winter  so  far  has  been  wonderfully  mild  ; 
scent  good  on  the  whole,  with  very  few  bad  days.     I  can  only  wish 

I  saw  thee  change,  yet  still  relied. 

Still  clung  with  hope  the  fonder.—/.  Moore, 

HORSB     HAS    JUST    COMB    OVER     A    BANK 


I  the  same  good  luck  to  other  impecunious  sportsmen,  and  give  them 

I  Lindsay  Gordon's  toast : — 

I  Here's  a  health  to  every  sportsman,  be  he  stableman  or  lord  ; 

If  his  heart  be  true  I  care  not  what  his  pocket  may  afford  ; 

And  may  he  ever  pleasantly  each  gallant  sport  pursue, 
!  If  he  takes  his  liquor  fairly,  and  his  fences  fairly  too. 

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BY    H.     B.     MONEY-COUTTS 

Havre  quay  at  seven  o'clock  on  a  fine  summer  morning. 

There  is  always  something  infinitely  refreshing  in  arriving 
anywhere  when  the  day  is  still  young.  There  are  few  things  more 
delightful,  for  instance,  than,  after  a  hot  and  dusty  night  in  the 
train,  to  step  out  upon  the  apology  for  a  platform  of  some  little 
station  up  in  the  mountains,  to  breathe  cool,  sweet  air  once  more, 
and  take  a  delicious  drink  of  aromatic  cafe  an  lait ;  and  how 
pleasant  is  the  consciousness  that  all  cares  and  worries  are  left  in 
England,  and  that  all  one's  business  is  to  enjoy  the  sunshine,  and 
revel  in  the  charm  of  novel  sights  and  sounds ! 

We  landed  at  once,  leaving  "  Clementina "  in  charge  of  the 
faithful  Frederick,  as  the  tide  would  not  allow  of  her  being  put 
ashore  for  another  four  hours.  Frederick  is  a  youth  of  the  most 
supreme  imperturbability  and  cheerfulness.  We  never  can  make  out 
whether  his  attitude  to  Clementina  is  that  of  a  lover  for  his  mistress, 
or  of  a  worshipper  for  his  goddess ;  but,  anyhow,  the  two  are 
inseparable,  and  the  result  of  his  unremitting  attentions  is  undeniably 

At  eleven  o'clock  we  strolled  down  to  the  quay,  and  found  the 
process  of  disembarkation  in  full  swing.  It  was  very  carefully  done, 
and  there  was  none  of  that  ostentatious  hanging  around  for  tips 
that  has  become  such  a  nuisance  at  certain  English  ports. 

Our  permis  de  conduire  and  perntis  de  circulation  held  good  from 
last  year,  so  there  were  no  ceremonies  to  perform,  and  within 
twenty  minutes  of  landing  we   were  bowling  through  the  paved 

M    2 

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streets  of  Havre.  What  a  difference  there  is  between  motoring  in 
England  and  in  France !  In  France  even  a  tramp  steps  briskly  to 
one  side  at  the  sound  of  the  horn,  the  farm  cart  is  almost  always 
on  its  proper  side,  or,  if  not,  makes  all  haste  to  get  there ;  the  very 
chickens  stay  not  upon  the  order  of  their  going,  but  go  quickly, 
perhaps  because  all  the  laggards  have  long  since  been  run  over. 
One  is  free  from  the  haunting  fear  of  police  traps,  which  gather  into 
their  net  the  reckless  and  the  cautious  alike ;  the  signboards  are 
frequent  and  legible ;  the  danger  marks  are  placed  where  they  are 
wanted,  and  nowhere  else. 

The  road  to  Kouen  is  very  charming,  especially  where  it  runs 
along  the  winding  Seine.  Our  day's  run  was  without  incident,  save 
for  a  puncture,  the  work  of  a  wicked  black  nail.  As  we  pulled  up 
on  a  flat  tyre,  a  big  car  coming  in  the  opposite  direction  did  the 
same  thing — punctured  too.  There  was  a  great  race  as  to  who 
should  get  off  again  first,  and  they  won  by  a  few  seconds ;  our 
tyres  were  a  new  set,  and  the  rims  uncommonly  stiff. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  we  spent  it  in  wandering  about 
lovely  Rouen.  What  a  wealth  of  wonderful  buildings  one  finds 
there !  Saint-Maclou  or  Saint-Ouen  alone  would  make  the  place 
famous,  and  the  cathedral  is  a  sheer  superfluity  of  beauty. 

Next  morning  we  bade  an  affectionate  farewell  to  the  pleasant 
city,  and  pulled  out  of  it  up  the  long  hill  before  you  come  to 
Pont  de  TArche.  On  through  Louviers  and  Evreux,  and  then  over 
that  most  marvellous  straight  road  between  Evreux  and  Nonancourt. 
Mile  after  mile  it  runs  as  though  drawn  with  a  ruler ;  the  car 
seemed  to  go  to  sleep  upon  the  satin  surface,  and  snored  like  a 
gigantic  humming  top  ;  the  rich  corn  land  on  either  side  rushed  by 
and  vanished  into  a  golden  distance,  no  villages  occurring  to  break 
the  spell. 

Where  do  they  all  dwell,  the  tillers  of  these  wonderful  plains  ? 
At  rare  intervals  one  sees  a  tiny  village  that  appears  lost  in  this 
fruitful  wilderness,  but  great  distances  must  be  covered  by  the 
labourers  in  their  journeyings  to  and  from  their  work.  One  seemed 
to  be  in  a  magic  land  where  a  kindly  power  has  caused  the  seed  to 
sow  itself,  and  the  harvest  to  fall  down  in  swathes  uncut  by  the 
hand  of  man. 

At  Dreux,  the  H6tel  du  Paradis  proved  worthy  of  the  fork  after 
its  name  in  the  Annuaire  de  Route,  and  provided  a  capital  lunch. 
The  midday  meal  at  a  small  French  inn  is  a  very  different  affair 
from  lunch  at  an  English  hostel.  In  England  one  solemnly  eats 
cold  beef  and  cheese  amidst  an  arctic  silence,  and  frequently  there 
are  no  other  guests.  In  France  the  meal  is  always  hot,  often 
elaborate,  usually  good,  and  the  room  is  invariably  full.     Monsieur 

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le  Cur6  is  generally  there,  and  there  is  sure  to  be  at  least  one 
prodigiously  stout  Frenchwoman  who  makes  one  wonder  if  the 
innkeeper  subsidises  her  as  an  advertisement  of  his  fare.  Most  of 
the  local  celebrities  come  in  for  their  dejeuner,  and  all  is  "smiles, 

good  humour,  and  jollity."     The  French  are  a  bonhomous  nation. 
After  lunch  there  was  a  little  trouble  owing  to  one  of  the  pins 

which  hold  the  springs  in  position  on  the  top  of  the  coil  breaking, 

but  a  brass    nail   was   trimmed    down    into    a    perfectly   efficient 


We  ran  slowly  through  Chartres,  thinking  it   looked  too  inter- 


esting  a  place  to  pass  by,  but  we  had  no  time  to  make  a  stop  there, 
and  ran  on  into  Orleans  over  the  worst  bit  of  road  we  encountered 
at  all,  though  the  wayside  heaps  of  stones  gave  a  promise  of  future 

At  Orleans  we  talked  about  Joan  of  Arc,  and  went  to  the  big 
Place  to  see  her  statue,  and  the  cleverly  carved  low  reliefs  of 
different  episodes  in  her  career.  Little  of  old  Orleans  is  left,  and 
the  cathedral  is  not  very  interesting.  A  fine  morning  brought  us 
next  day  to  the  tiny  inn  at  Bonny-sur- Loire  by  lunch  time,  a  strange 
little  place  where  they  fed  us  on  sardines  and  goat's  meat,  in  a 

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beautifully  clean  kitchen  with  a  tiled  floor  and  oak  furniture.  In  the 
afternoon  our  way  lay  through  Cosne  and  La  Charity  to  Pougues- 
les-eaux,  just  beyond  which  the  spires  of  Nevers  appear  in  the  blue 
distance.  Our  hotel  at  Nevers  was  distinguished  neither  by  a 
"fork"  nor  a  "bed"  in  the  Annuaire  (I  should  explain  that  a  fork 
means  good  cooking  and  a  bed  good  rooms),  but  in  spite  of  that 
both  proved  excellent. 

Nevers  is  a  quaint  old  town  with  high  houses  and  narrow 
streets,  the  usual  proportion  of  old  churches,  and  a  very  beautiful 
cathedral  with  a  double  apse. 

The  radiator  had  sprung  a  leak  during  the  day  at  the  union  of 
the  pipe  which  carries  the  hot  water  to  the  carburettor  jacket,  and  it 
was  necessary  to  find  a  mechanician  and  a  soldering  iron.  I  was 
afraid  at  the  time  that  he  had  not  made  a  very  good  job  of  it,  and 
sure  enough  next  morning  the  leak  became  worse  than  ever  about 
ten  miles  out  from  Moulins.  Also  a  valve  spring  broke  and  had  to 
be  replaced,  and  we  were  all  in  a  discontented  frame  of  mind  when 
we  reached  the  town.  A  good  lunch  made  matters  assume  a  better 
aspect,  and  we  found  a  first-rate  repairing  shop  where  a  really  good 
joint  was  made.  It  was  a  matter  for  brazing,  though,  aqd  took 
time.  The  workmen  about  the  place  softly  crooned  quaint  songs 
over  their  work,  one  of  them  singing  second  very  harmoniously, 
while  a  whirring  dynamo  outlined  the  bass.  The  delay  did  not  seem 
very  long;  it  is  difficult  to  feel  bored  where  men  are  singing  and 
machinery  is  working,  but  the  afternoon  was  already  old  as  we 
hauled  out  of  Moulins  on  the  Lyon  road.  At  La  Palisse  we  began 
to  get  into  the  hills,  and  the  kilometres  no  longer  vanished  into  the 
Never  Never  with  the  same  rapidity  as  heretofore.  In  this  cramped 
country  of  ours  a  run  of  150  miles  is  quite  a  long  day's  journey,  but 
in  the  north  of  France  it  is  an  easy  one.  If  a  car  will  average 
twenty  miles  an  hour  in  England  on  an  ordinary  high  road,  say  the 
London  and  Portsmouth  road,  you  may  be  certain  she  will  average 
thirty  with  ease  in  the  north  and  west  of  France. 

We  stopped  for  a  few  minutes  at  Roanne  for  petrol  and  a  cup 
of  coffee,  and  decided  to  push  on  for  Lyon,  though  it  was  beginning 
to  get  dark.  Roanne  appeared  to  be  a  most  unattractive  spot,  just 
an  ugly  manufacturing  town.  The  road  by  St.  Symphorien  and 
L'Arbresle  is  a  very  hilly  one  indeed,  with  as  many  twists  and  turns 
as  a  Gordon  Bennett  course,  but  it  soon  became  too  dark  to  see  all 
its  beauty,  whereat  we  cursed  our  Nevers  mechanic.  Finally  we 
arrived  in  Lyon  at  about  nine  o'clock.  Next  morning  it  poured 
with  rain,  so  we  stayed  where  we  were,  but  as  it  cleared  up  in  the 
afternoon  we  routed  out  Clementina  from  her  garage  to  take  us 
about  the  town.     After  duly  admiring  the  cathedral  we  dived  into 

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some  back  streets  in  the  direction  of  the  junction  of  the  Rhone  and 
Saone,  and  promptly  caught  a  puncture — another  nail. 

Now  I  dislike  running  on  the  rim  if  it  can  possibly  be  avoided, 
so  Frederick  proceeded  to  put  in  a  new  tube,  although  the  street  we 
were  in  was  not  a  savoury  one.  There  had  been  no  one  about  when 
we  stopped,  but  a  most  evil-looking  crowd  gathered  in  a  minute  or 
two  to  watch  the  operation.  Just  as  the  tube  emerged  from  the 
cover  a  nice-looking  young  piou-piou — one  of  the  few  respectable 
members  of  the  crowd,  edged  up  to  me  and  whispered  a  warning, 
with  a  significant  look  at  the  ring  of  unwashed  faces  round  us.  I 
possessed  myself  of  an  enormous  file,  as  thick  as  a  belaying-pin — 
a  fancy  tool   which    I    always   carry — and   stood  on   guard   while 

Frederick  put  in  another  tube.  Nothing  happened,  but  I  am  not 
at  all  sure  they  would  not  have  rushed  us  if  I  had  been  engaged  in 
helping  with  the  tyre. 

We  went  on  to  the  junction  of  the  rivers;  surely  there  is  no 
more  beautiful  city  in  France  than  Lyon,  with  its  rivers,  its  bridges, 
and  its  towering  heights. 

On  next  day  to  Annecy ;  first  of  all  a  straight  flat  road  to 
Bourgoin,  with  the  mountains  gradually  coming  nearer  to  you  ;  then 
by  La  Tour  de  Pin,  where  we  lunched.  Two  big  cars  arrived  while 
we  were  waiting  for  our  omelette,  one  of  them  from  Switzerland, 
where  we  gathered  that  the  language  of  the  peasants  at  the  sight  of 

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a  passing  car  was  "  frequent  and  painful  and  free,"  but  that  the 
cases  of  actual  molestation  have  been  much  exaggerated. 

In  the  afternoon  we  were  in  the  hills  once  more,  and  having 
plenty  of  time  did  a  little  fern-hunting  in  the  rocky  banks  of  the 
road  close  to  Les  Echelles.  It  is  sad  to  have  to  add  that  the 
ferns  never  reached  England.  If  some  horticulturally-minded  post- 
man has  planted  them  in  his  back  garden,  I  hope  they  will  turn 
into  the  rankest  weeds.  Just  beyond  the  little  town  the  road 
burrows  through  the  mountain  in  a  tunnel  200  yards  long — an 
unpleasant  place,  dark  and  slippery  and  wet.  Then  through  Cham- 
b^ry  to  Aix-les-Bains,  all  along  the  lovely  Lac  du  Bourget.  In  this 
part  of  the  world  we  met  many  other  cars,  including  the  most  out- 
rageous party  of  road-hogs,  who  came  along  through  the  suburbs 
of  Chamb^ry  in  what  looked  like  a  70-horse  Merc^d^s  at  a  very 
great  pace,  with  two  horns  going,  and  everyone  in  the  car  shouting 
at  the  top  of  his  voice.  But  during  the  whole  of  our  journeyings 
this  was  the  only  flagrant  case  of  dangerous  driving  we  saw. 

Going  down  the  steep  hill  into  Annecy  one  of  the  expanding 
brake-bands  broke  with  a  crack.  The  other  one  held  however,  and 
with  that  and  the  foot-brake  she  was  under  perfectly  good  control, 
though  of  course  in  was  inadvisable  to  use  the  side  brake  for  fear 
of  damaging  the  wheel  and  tyre  which  had  to  take  all  the  strain  of 
the  remaining  band.  The  broken  ends  were  riveted  together  when 
we  got  to  Geneva — quite  a  satisfactory  job  that  lasted  perfectly  well 
until  we  returned  to  England. 

We  stayed  the  night  at  Annecy,  and  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  inhabitants  had  determined  in  some  past  epoch  of  history 
to  combine  in  their  town  what  was  most  picturesque  of  all  the 
picturesque  towns  in  Europe.  So  they  made  a  castle  on  a  high 
rock,  like  Edinburgh,  and  brought  waterways  to  their  front  doors, 
like  the  Venetians,  and  built  their  houses  upon  great  arches,  with 
the  path  under  them,  like  Chester,  and  chose  to  have  a  very  lovely 
lake  near  by,  like  Geneva,  and  mountains  all  round  about,  like 
Innsbruck.  The  only  thing  which  seemed  purely  Annecian  was  the 
smell  of  the  '*  Rows  "  (to  borrow  a  word  from  Chester).  We  agreed 
that  we  had  never  smelt  anything  quite  so  amazing,  even  in  the 
water  slums  of  Venice. 

Next  day  we  started  for  Switzerland,  and  were  caught  in  a 
deluge  of  rain  up  in  the  hills.  It  was  so  heavy  that  we  were 
obliged  to  pull  up  and  sit  under  our  Cape-cart  hood  till  the  weather 
cleared  a  little.  The  question  of  how  to  protect  a  car  against  the 
weather  is  a  very  difficult  one.  In  really  wet  times  nothing  of 
course  is  so  nice  as  a  regular  brougham  body,  with  a  projecting  top 
and  a  glass  window  covering  the  front  seats.     But  the  weight  of 

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such  a  body  is  very  considerable,  and  undoubtedly  slows  a  car  of 

medium  horse-power  by  a  good  mady  miles  an  hour,  not  to  mention 

the  increased  wear  on  the  tyres.     A  Cape  hood  is  of  little  use  when 

the  car  is  moving,  unless  it  has  a  celluloid  flap  to  let  down  in  front, 

and  such  a  window  never  lasts  for  long,  as  the  stuff  will  not  stand 

much  hard  usage.     One  undoubtedly  sees  far  more  cars  with  landau 

or  landaulette  bodies  now  than  one  did  a  couple   of  years  ago; 

it  appears  that  ladies  are  beginning  to  strike  against  being  buffeted 

in  an  open  car  by  rain  and  wind.     But  for  all  that  I  am  inclined 

to  think   that  the  best  plan  is  to  have  just  an  ordinary  open  car. 


whether  tonneau  or  side  entrance,  and  to  cover  oneself  in  cunningly- 
made  sack  mackintoshes,  unless  one  is  prepared  for  heavy  petrol 
and  tyre  bills.  An  ordinary  Cape  hood,  however,  is  very  useful  in 
case  of  a  heavy  deluge  which  obviously  will  not  last  long,  and  it  is 
cosy  to  sit  comfortably  in  the  dry,  with  the  engine  just  ticking  away 
to  itself,  until  the  rain  is  over. 

We  had  quite  a  difficulty  with  the  old  fogey  who  presides  over 
the  French  douane  at  La  Caille ;  he  did  not  appear  to  have  seen  an 
Automobile  Club  customs  guarantee  before,  and  could  not  grasp 
that  we  wanted  his  signature  in  order  to  prove  that  we  had  left 

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France,  and  so  were  entitled  to  a  return  of  the  money  deposited 
with  the  club.  He  looked  at  the  paper  right  way  up,  wrong  way 
up,  and  finally  smelt  it !  He  was  a  perfectly  civil  old  person,  but 
should  have  been  pensioned  off  years  ago.  However,  we  finally 
persuaded  him  to  sign,  and  trundled  on  over  the  lofty  suspension 
bridge  that  spans  the  gorge  of  the  Grandes  Usses,  into  the  neutral 
zone  between  France  and  Switzerland. 

The  officials  were  very  civil  at  the  Swiss  frontier,  opening 
nothing,  and  half  an  hour  later  we  were  in  Geneva.  Here  we 
stayed  a  few  days,  making  various  expeditions  round  about.  The 
Swiss  roads  are  not  up  to  much,  but  what  does  that  matter  in  a 
land  where  in  spite  of  Cookites  and  Lunnites  almost  every  prospect 
still  pleases  ?  Man  is  becoming  very  vile,  though,  if  the  stories  one 
hears  of  railways  up  Mont  Blanc  and  searchlights  on  the  top  are 

We  started  on  our  homeward  journey  in  a  gentle  drizzle,  run- 
ning along  by  the  lake  as  far  as  Nyon ;  thence  sharp  round  to  the 
left  and  up  into  the  hills.  If  anyone  wishes  to  test  a  car  for  its  hill- 
climbing  capacities  let  him  take  it  over  the  road  between  Nyon  and 
La  Cure.  The  gradient  is  steep  enough  to  bring  a  20  h.p.  car  to  its 
second  speed,  and  there  is  no  break  in  the  ascent  for  miles  and  miles, 
while  the  corners  for  the  most  part  form  acute  angles.  We  had 
been  advised  to  follow  the  alternative  but  longer  road  through  Gex, 
but  hill-climbing  is  a  strong  point  of  Clementina's,  and  she  never 
overheats.  My  trust  in  her  was  not  disappointed,  and  we  arrived  at 
the  douane  at  La  Cure  a  little  in  front  of  a  much  more  powerful  car 
which  had  left  Geneva  before  us  by  the  more  usual  road. 

The  Swiss  official  in  charge  signed  my  leaving  souchc  for  me 
without  demur,  but  we  expected  a  little  bother  at  the  French  fron- 
tier, as  we  had  omitted  to  arm  ourselves  with  any  documents  of  re- 
entry. However  "Souche  III."  signed  by  our  old  friend  at  La 
Caille  proved  that  we  had  not  recovered  our  deposited  money  as 
yet,  and  after  a  little  conversation  we  were  allowed  to  proceed.  For 
the  advice  of  those  about  to  travel  I  may  here  remark  that  French 
roadside  customs  houses  are  always  shut  up  between  12  and  2,  while 
the  douanier  has  his  dejeuner,  and  nothing  is  more  annoying  than  to 
have  to  wait  for  hours  in  a  grubby  little  village  while  Monsieur  le 
douanier  is  taking  his  nap. 

The  road  now  ran  downhill  for  some  miles  into  Morez.  We 
were  stopped  by  a  man  just  outside  the  town,  whom  I  took  to  be  an 
octroi  official ;  he  asked  to  see  my  "  passavant  *' ;  I  did  not  quite 
catch  what  he  said,  and  thinking  it  was  the  usual  question  at  the 
octroi — "  Vous  avez  quelque  chose  k  declarer  ?  "  and  that  he  was 
running  through  the  list  of  dutiable  articles,  I  made  answer,  "  Non, 

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nous  n'avons  pas  de  savon/'  thinking  what  a  dirty  town  Morez  must 
be  to  discourage  the  importation  of  soap,  and  resolving  that  our 
modest  cakes  of  that  article  should  not  be  taxed  if  I  could  help  it. 
My  answer  appeared  to  infuriate  the  poor  man,  and  he  forthwith 
haled  me  before  his  superior  officer,  a  kindly  person  who  after  a  few 
minutes'  talk  told  his  subordinate  to  go  away  and  not  make  any  more 
betises.  It  appeared  that  this  was  another  douane,  and  not  an 

Two  roads  meet  just  at  this  point,  one  from  La  Cure  and  one 
from  Saint-Claude ;  and  if  you  come  by  the  latter  road  this  is  the 


first  douane  you  find.  The  man  on  watch  had  orders  not  to  stop 
cars  coming  from  La  Cure — I  suppose  he  had  been  asleep.  My 
friend  was  highly  entertained  at  the  "  pas  savon  "  mistake,  and 
explained  that  a  **  passavant  "  was  a  document  which  could  be  used 
instead  of  the  club  papers  for  franking  you  through  the  customs  and 
generally  making  your  path  easy. 

It  was  pouring  with  rain  by  the  time  we  reached  St.  Laurent, 
and  we  were  caught  in  a  very  heavy  thunderstorm,  on  some  bare 
open  land  near  Champagnole.  So  violent  was  the  lightning  that  it 
seemed  discreet  to  leave  the  car  for  a  few  minutes  and  take  refuge 
under  a  friendly  bank.     Clementina  was  the  most  prominent  object 

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in  the  landscape,  and  we  preferred  her  room  to  her  company  till  the 
worst  was  over.  I  have  never  heard  of  a  car  being  struck,  and  am 
told  that  the  rubber  tyres  are  a  sufficient  protection,  which  I  beg 
leave  to  doubt,  inasmuch  as  wet  rubber  cannot  form  a  perfect 

This  road  must  be  very  beautiful  on  a  fine  day ;  at  one  place  in 
particular,  I  think  between  Poligny  and  D6le,  you  look  out  from  a 
window  in  the  hills  upon  all  the  plains  of  France.  We  reached 
Dijon  before  dark,  glad  to  be  in  out  of  the  wet,  but  sorry  that  our 
hill-climbing  was  over. 

Clementina  was  in  a  terrible  mess  that  night  when  we  got  in, 
Wind,  rain,  and  mud  defeat  almost  any  mudguards.  However, 
Frederick  brought  her  out  like  a  new  pin  in  the  morning,  and  we 
started  for  Troyes  looking  very  spick  and  span,  in  marked  contrast 
to  certain  other  cars  which  had  arrived  from  Paris  the  night  before, 
and  which  had  obviously  not  been  touched  by  their  mechanicians. 
I  fear  some  proud  professionals  think  it  is  beneath  their  dignity  to 
wash  their  car.   Yet  a  dirty  car  invariably  means  trouble  eventually. 

That  day  we  had  a  wayside  lunch  and  watched  the  eclipse ;  all 
the  peasants  and  villagers  seemed  to  be  keeping  holiday  in  honour 
thereof,  and  to  be  taking  an  immense  amount  of  interest  in  the 

At  Bar-sur-Seine  we  overtook  a  long  column  of  blue-coated 
infantry,  and  Troyes  was  full  of  troops  concentrating  for  the 
manoeuvres.  A  general  of  division  and  his  staff  were  putting  up  at 
our  hotel,  and  made  an  extremely  gay  party  at  dinner.  We  did 
not  think  that  the  general  obtained  the  same  amount  of  outward 
deference  as  would  his  English  opposite  number,  and  next  morning 
his  staff  seemed  to  leave  him  unattended  and  alone.  Autre  paySy 
autres  mceurs — a  little  starch  more  or  less  is  not  of  much  impor- 
tance. From  our  window  we  watched  the  regiments  swinging 
along  the  narrow  quaint  old  street.  No  one,  I  suppose,  looks  upon 
conscription  as  aught  but  a  necessary  evil ;  yet  the  manhood  of  a 
nation  in  arms  is  a  soul-stirring  sight.  Soldierly-looking  men  they 
were,  of  good  physique  and  bearing. 

We  ran  to  Coulommiers  that  morning,  leaving  the  Paris  road 
at  Provins.  The  cross-country  roads  are  only  tolerable  as  a  rule, 
and  are  certainly  no  better  than  our  own  as  far  as  surface  goes. 
Our  way  in  the  afternoon  lay  through  beautiful  forests,  and  we 
found  in  Pierrefonds  the  enchanted  castle  of  our  dreams.  Its  walls 
and  towers  and  pinnacles  must  surely  have  inspired  Mr.  Albert 
Goodwin  in  some  of  his  finest  imaginings.  One  would  be  almost 
frightened  to  take  a  child  into  Compiegne  Forest.  Its  lofty  trees, 
its  gloom,  its  weird  tidiness — there  is  no  undergrowth — its  immen- 

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sity,  produce  a  strange  feeling  of  uneasiness  and  unreality.  Weir- 
wolves  and  hob-goblins  no  longer  appear  impossibilities,  and  in  fancy 
one  can  see  apes  and  bears,  with  horrid  pink  eyes  and  ugly  snouts, 
glowering  at  one  from  behind  the  dark  tree-trunks !  I  think 
Mr.  Lewis  Carroll  must  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
Jabberwock  in  Compi^gne  Forest. 

We  found  a  most  comfortable  inn  at  Compiegne,  and  made  a 
short  run  of  it  next  morning  into  Amiens.  Thence,  next  day,  in  a 
tempest  of  wind  and  rain,  through  Abbeville  and  Montreuil  to 
Boulogne,  where  we  took  ship  for  England. 


Clementina  was  on  her  very  best  behaviour  coming  home.  We 
came  right  through  from  Geneva  without  a  single  involuntary  stop, 
without  even  a  puncture. 

It  is  always  surprising  to  me  to  find  so  many  people  in  this 
country  who  own  cars,  who  love  motoring,  and  who  have  plenty  of 
time  of  their  own,  but  who  have  never  taken  their  car  abroad. 
Many  of  them  go  to  Scotland  in  their  cars  in  August,  and  speak  of  the 
performance  with  bated  breath  for  the  next  twelve  months ;  and 
indeed  it  is  quite  arguable  that  a  hundred  miles  in  England  contain 
more  danger  than  five  hundred  in  France.     To  begin  with,  one  is 

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always  liable  to  be  held  up  by  those  licensed  footpads  the  police ; 
our  ancestors  must  have  felt  much  the  same  with  regard  to  highway- 
men as  the  modern  traveller  by  road  feels  about  the  guardians — save 
the  mark — of  the  law.  Doubtless  they  hoped,  as  we  hope,  with 
ordinary  luck  to  avoid  molestation,  and  uttered  much  the  same 
complaints  when  caught.  But  they  had  the  advantage  in  that  in 
their  case  it  was  all  over  very  soon,  and  they  were  not  liable  to  be 
placed  in  a  felon's  dock  for  the  edification  of  a  bigoted  bench 
of  thick-headed  local  nobodies ;  moreover  highwaymen  were 
occasionally  caught  and  hanged.  But  it  matters  little  after  all. 
The  great  roads  across  the  Channel  beckon  to  one.  Smooth, 
straight,  enduring,  they  run  through  a  kindly  land  where  strangers 
are  sure  of  a  welcome,  where  your  c?Lr  rejoices  in  her  new  freedom, 
where  inns  are  good  and  towns  are  beautiful.  It  may  be  that 
England  is  too  small,  too  overcrowded,  that  the  police-trap  is  neces- 
sary, and  the  anti-motor  magisterial  bench  the  embodiment  of  all 
wisdom.  The  remedy  is  obvious  and  simple — how  simple  and  easy 
people  who  have  not  tried  it  do  not  realise :  take  your  car  and  go 
to  France  for  a  month. 

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**  Now,  mind  you,  Ferguson,  I  don't  speak  twice  about  a  thing.  It's 
not  my  way.  I  shouldn't  have  three  country  houses,  a  Piccadilly 
mansion,  and,  well,  let's  call  it  two  millions  of  money — I  shouldn't, 
I  say,  be  the  man  I  am  if  I'd  wasted  my  time  like  that.  Pass  my 
instructions  on  to  the  other  fellows — your  brother  keepers,  that  is. 
I'll  have  no  tourists  or  other  folks  in  the  neighbourhood  fishing  a 
blamed  one  of  my  rivers.  No,  nor  the  small  streams  either — burns, 
you  call  'em,  eh  ?     Do  you  grasp  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Ferguson,  the  head  keeper,  was  a  gaunt,  brown,  six-foot 
man,  with  a  grey  outstanding  frill  to  his  chin.  An  hour  ago  he 
might  have  told  you  that  there  wasn't  much  in  natural  history  to 
surprise  him ;  at  least,  as  regards  the  one-legged,  two-legged,  four- 
legged,  and  cold-blooded  no-legged  creatures  more  or  less  freely  to 
be  discovered  in  his  glen  and  glens  like  his  in  the  North.  But  that 
was  before  he  had  been  summoned  to  the  presence  of  Mr.  Curdling, 
the  new  owner  of  Glen  Sloch  Lodge,  with  all  its  many  appurtenant 
miles,  square  and  linear,  of  sporting  rights. 

He  had  been  brought  up  with  The  M  agin  ton  and  worshipped 
the  Maginton  tartan.  When  The  Maginton  came  to  grief  and 
Mr.  Ferguson  heard  of  it,  he  made  a  special  journey  to  London  to 
talk  it  over  with  his  beloved  laird.  And  it  says  much  for  Ferguson 
that,  by  his  earnest  pleading,  he  persuaded  this  madcap  last  of  a 
magnificent  old  Highland  line  of  chiefs  to  think  it  possible  he 
could  let  everything  go  to  his  creditors  without  a  regret,  save  only 
Glen  Sloch. 

**  Come  and  live  in  yer  own  land  for  the  rest  of  yer  time, 
sir,"  Ferguson  entreated  his  late  and,  up  to  then,  his  only  laird. 
**Awa'  from  the  blastin'  temptations  of  toons,  ye'll  do  fine,  sir. 
There's  the  stags  on  the  hills  and  the  fesh  in  the  streams,  and  I'll 
tak'  my  oath  o*  one  thing — there's  no  man  of  the  glen  that  wudna 

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rather  have  his  wages  halved  so  he  wass  still  under  a  Maginton. 
Come  here,  laird,  to  the  glen  where  ye  wass  born,  and  let  troubles 
just  richt  themselves  by  the  blessin'  o'  God,  whatever," 

But  The  Maginton  couldn't  do  it.  His  creditors  would  have 
been  much  amused  by  Ferguson's  innocence.  Mr.  Curdling  was 
much  amused  when  The  Maginton,  in  recommending  his  head 
keeper  to  the  new  lord  of  the  glen,  recounted  this  touching  proof 
of  his  fidelity.  Mr.  Curdling  wouldn't,  he  said,  have  thought  there 
were  such  servants  living  in  the  twentieth  century — he'd  be  hanged 
if  he  would.  He  did  a  remarkable  thing,  however,  in  writing  to 
Ferguson  and  raising  his  wages  fifty  per  cent,  on  the  understanding 
that  Ferguson  was  to  be  as  good  a  servant  to  him  as  he  had, 
presumably,  been  to  The  Maginton  in  the  past. 

"  Are  you  listening  to  what  I  say,  Ferguson  ? "  demanded 
Mr.  Curdling,  impatiently.  He  had  no  sort  of  sympathy  with 
employees  of  his  who  gazed  grey-eyed  into  space  while  he  laid 
down  the  law  to  them. 

"  Ay,"  said  Ferguson,  "  I  comprehend."  He  contemplated 
Mr.  Curdling  now  as  if  he  were  a  hopeless  retriever.  "  But,  sir, 
ye'll  no  be  wishin*  to  close  the  Gisach  Burn  from  Loch  Beallach. 
There's  a  bit  story  about  it,  and  The  Maginton  did  always  say,  and 
his  fathers  before  him,  that  the  Gisach  wass  the  Almighty's  own 
burn.  It  wass  because  of  a  great  drought,  sir,  so  it  is  related  in  a 
book  that  I  have  read,  and  only  the  Gisach  didna  run  dry.  It 
saved  the  cattle  of  the  glen,  sir.  Master  Colin — I'm  meanin'  my 
late  master,  sir — he  said  he  would  be  condemned  eternally  after 
death  (ye'll  ken  my  meanin')  if  he'd  ever  stop  a'body  fishin'  the 
Gisach ;  and  it  wass  his  father  before  him  that  blew  up  the  rocks 
with  powder  to  let  the  salmons  get  into  it  for  all  the  world  to  fesh 
them.     I  wudna  close  the  Gisach  if  I  wass  yerself,  Mr.  Curdling." 

*'The  Gisach!  Which  the  devil  is  the  Gisach?"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Curdling,  testily.  "There  are  dozens  of  'em  on  the  estate, 
and  I  don't  know  this  from  t'other.  But  never  mind  which  it  is. 
I  don't  speak  twice  about  a  thing,  as  I  just  said.  The  Magintons 
were  no  doubt  a  very  respectable  family,  clan,  or  what  you  please  to 
call  it ;  but  they're  wiped  out  now,  boot  and  cap.  And  with  them 
goes  all  such  superstitious  rot  as  that  about  one  stream  running  on 
for  ever  while  all  the  rest  dry  up.  I  should  think,  for  my  part, 
Ferguson  "  (and  Mr.  Curdling  playfully  grasped  the  lowest  but  one 
button  of  Ferguson's  waistcoat — it  was  level  with  his  own  chin), 
"that  this  is  the  wettest  patch  on  earth.  The  Flood  may  have 
started  here,  but  as  for  a  drought — stuff!  No  free  fishing  at  all, 
remember.  A  warning  first,  and  then  just  pitch  the  beggars  into 
the  water.     Refer  'em  to  me  afterwards  if  it  vexes  them.     I  paid 

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THE    NEW    LAIRD^S    BAPTISM  183 

one  hundred  and  ninety-five  thousand  pounds  for  this  glen,  and  I'm 
doing  what  I  please  with  it.  And  now  I  want  to  talk  about  the 
stags  and  bucks  and  things.  I've  never  shot  anything  bigger  than 
a  hare  in  the  South.     You'll  have  to  teach  me  a  lot,  you'll  find." 

Ferguson  drew  a  long,  deep  breath,  and  seemed  to  shiver.  Yet 
it  wasn't  cold  ;  and  he  was  in  the  lodge  smoking-room,  with  a  large 
wood  fire  in  the  grate. 

"  Why  the  devil  don't  you  speak,  man  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Curd- 
ling. "  You're  not  deaf,  are  you  ?  I  tell  you  I've  got  to  be  coached 
about  stalking  and  all  that.  Maginton  says  you're  a  jewel.  Show 
a  little  sparkle  of  some  kind,  if  it's  only  to  prove  your  late  master 
isn't  a  liar.     I  suppose  you  got  very  fond  of  him,  eh  ?  " 

Mr.  Curdling  put  that  question  coaxingly. 

"Fond,  sir!  Ay — ^just  that,"  said  Ferguson,  after  a  pause. 
He  again  contemplated  Mr.  Curdling  during  the  pause.  "And — 
I'll  ask  ye  to  put  another  man  in  my  place.  I've  done  with  the 
glen  after  all." 

"  What's  that  ?  " 

"My  resignation,  sir.  No,  I  canna  do  it,  Mr.  Curdling.  I 
willna  stop.  I — I've  a  daughter  in  Glasgow  that  I'll  be  gangin' 
awa'  to.  I'm  no  that  young  myself,  and  maybe  it's  time  I  changed 
my  manner  of  life  like  Master  Colin.  The  ways  of  the  Lord  are 
past  kennin',  and  what  maun  be  maun  be." 

And  then  Mr.  Curdling  stepped  down  from  his  stilts.  They 
were  so  habitually  an  accessory  to  him  that  it  was  not  easy,  but  he 
did  it.  He  had  an  instinctive  appreciation  of  Ferguson  as  a  local 
man,  and  he  needed  a  man  to  initiate  him  into  the  tricks  of  the 
trade  (so  he  termed  it)  as  lord  of  a  deer  forest.  He  shouldn't  think 
of  it.  Of  course  he  would  respect  all  Ferguson's  little  fads  and  pre- 
possessions. If  Ferguson  feared  about  the  tips  and  so  on,  which  no 
■  doubt  had  come  upon  him  as  thick  as  Glen  Sloch  midges  in  the  old 
time,  that  should  be  made  all  right.  Even  an  extra  hundred  pounds 
on  to  the  head  keeper's  income  for  a  year  couldn't  hurt  Mr.  Curd- 
ling; and  Ferguson  should  have  that.  There  wouldn't  be  any 
shooting  parties  that  season;  Mr.  Curdling  didn't  want  to  seem 
quite  a  fool  to  his  own  guests.  But  next  year,  when  he  had  got  his 
hand  in,  and  could  not  only  tell  a  stag  from  a  hind,  but  maybe  pot 
one  first  shot — then  things  should  hum  profitably  for  Ferguson  in 
Glen  Sloch. 

"  Come,  my  man,  let's  take  it  as  settled  that  that  nonsense 
about  your  quitting  is — shelved.  At  any  rate  for  this  season.  I  ask 
it  as  a  personal  favour,  Ferguson." 

Ferguson  gave  way  then.  He  could  do  no  less,  it  seemed  to 

NO.  cxxvu.    VOL,  xxu-^Febriury  1906  N 

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**  It's  no  the  money,  sir,  ye  ken,"  he  said. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Mr.  Curdling,  with  a  worldly  smile  which 
was  not  lost  upon  Ferguson. 

"  It's  no  the  money,  sir,"  repeated  the  head  keeper,  "  but  it 
would  wring  my  heart  that  a  laird  of  Glen  Sloch  should  have  to  be 
taught  the  very  rudiments  of  the  craft  by  a'body  but  myself.  It 
wudna  be  decent  for  ye  to  be  on  the  hills  with  a'body  but  myself, 
sir,  for  awhile.  I  can  see  that.  If  I'm  no  respectful,  I'll  ask  ye 
to  excuse  me.     And  I'll  be  leaving  ye  the  noo,  sir." 

Mr.  Curdling  swallowed  this  with  difficulty,  but  he  swallowed  it. 
Yes,  and  he  let  Ferguson  go  from  his  presence  without  a  reproof. 
He  felt  some  fear  of  the  great  gaunt  fellow,  who  looked  as  if  he  had 
been  weathered  by  prehistoric  storms  and  sunshine,  and  stood  so 
unflatteringly  erect  and  calm  before  him  and  his  two  millions  of 
money.  He  didn't  inform  Ferguson  that  there  were  other  matters 
to  discuss.     They  might  wait. 

"  But,  hold  hard  a  moment,"  he  said,  when  Ferguson  was  at 
the  door,  already  bonneted — an  insulting  liberty  that,  whether  due 
to  thoughtlessness  or  habit !  "  About  your  holy  burn !  I  don't 
change  my  mind  when  I've  said  a  thing.  It's  closed  to  the  public ; 
and  my  orders  are — drown  all  poachers.  Well,  say  half-drown  'em, 
and  take  their  names  afterwards.     Good  morning." 

He  gave  Ferguson  his  back,  and  felt  better. 

And  with  a  muttered  '*  Lord  save  us !  "  Ferguson  went  from  the 
lodge  which  had  in  its  day  seen  so  much  Maginton  grandeur  of 
manliness — so  the  honest  keeper  rated  it — mounted  his  pony,  and 
paced  solemnly  away. 

It  was  a  bitter  task,  but  he  did  his  duty  to  the  letter  that 
morning.  He  rode  slowly  up  the  glen  and  gave  all  his  subs  their 
instructions.  They  returned  him  nods  for  nods,  and  grim  or  less 
grim  smiles  for  his  smiles,  which  were  all  of  the  far-away  reflective 
kind.  They  asked  him  what  like  the  new  laird  was,  being  naturally 
anxious,  especially  after  such  intelligence.  But  Ferguson  preferred 
to  say  little  enough  on  that  topic.  They  would  soon  be  seeing  him 
for  themselves.  He  wasna  a  Maginton.  That  was  the  most 
Ferguson  would  say  about  Mr.  Curdling. 

Last  of  all,  when  he  was  again  nearing  his  own  quarters  in  the 
lodge's  precincts,  he  turned  his  sheltie's  head  up  the  glen  of  the 
Gisach  Burn.  This  attractive  stream  came  down  from  a  lonely 
loch  in  the  mountains,  with  red  sand  to  its  shores  which  the  deer 
foot--marked  abundantly.  It  had  pretty  falls  for  a  mile,  and  then 
ran  merrily  into  alternating  dark  pools  and  laughing  lengths  between 
purpled  banks  until  it  lost  itself  in  the  greater  Sloch  River.  Midway 
in  its  course,  some  four  miles  from  the  lodge,  was  the  house  of 

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Google      I 

THE    NEW    LAIRD'S    BAPTISM  185 

Peter  Macdonald,  another  keeper.     Peter  was  a  comparatively  new 

importation.      He  was  a  rough  and  remote  cousin  of  Ferguson's 

from  North  Skye ;  a  silent,  determined  piece  of  natural  man  after 

Ferguson's    own   heart.     His  one   defect   didn't  matter  greatly  in 

Glen  Gisach.     The  fact  that  he  had  very  little  English  had  hitherto 

not  in  the  least  detracted  from  his  usefulness  in  a  spot  where  there 

was  no  one  who  hadn't  the  Gaelic. 

Ferguson  had  no  more  to  say  to  Macdonald  about  the  new  laird 
than  to  the  other  men;  but  he  was  fiercely  and  ironically  plain 
about  his  remote  cousin's  particular  responsibility. 

"  Look  you',  man,"  he  said  (but  in  Gaelic),  "  there  is  to  be  no 
more  free  fishing  in  the  Gisach.  You  are  not  even  to  behave  your- 
self like  a  Christian  if  you  do  find  anyone  throwing  a  fly  in  the 
stream  that  has  been  open  to  all  the  world  from  the  days  of  your 
own  great-great-grandmother;  and  that's  the  same  as  from  the 
beginning  of  time  itself.  Say  to  him  *  Go  away '  first,  and  you  may 
tell  him  that  an  Englishman  is  now  the  master  here.  But  perhaps 
he  will  not  go  away.  His  father  may  have  taken  salmon  in  the 
Gisach,  ay  and  his  father's  father,  and  he  shall  tell  you  he  is  only 
catching  wee  trouts  no  bigger  than  his  thumb.  It  is  all  the  same, 
Peter  Macdonald.  You  are  not  to  stand  arguing  with  him.  It  is 
your  duty  now  to  be  a  different  man  to  what  you  was  when  you 
did  come  to  the  glen  last  October.  Take  him  by  the  neck  and  an 
arm,  and  throw  him  into  the  water.  Drown  him.  Those  are  your 
orders,  man.  Yes,  you  may  stare.  I  do  not  wonder.  It  is  not  the 
Scotland  your  father  and  I  was  born  in." 

"  Drown  1 "  stammered  Peter  Macdonald.  "  You  do  not  mean 
that,  Mr.  Ferguson  ?  " 

"  Those  are  your  orders,  I  tell  you,"  shouted  Ferguson.  But 
he  amended  them  just  in  time.  **  No,"  he  added,  almost  in 
a  whisper.  "  You  must  not  drown  the  poor  disappointed  body 
quite ;  but  toss  him  in  and  pull  him  out  when  you  do  see  that  he 
cannot  swim,  if  there  is  much  water  in  the  stream.  And  you  may 
ask  him  afterwards  for  his  card  and  his  opinion  of  Mr.  Curdling, 
the  new  English  laird,  for  making  you  do  such  a  thing.  Ask  him 
that,  Peter  Macdonald,  God  bless  you  !  " 

And  then  Ferguson  went  home  to  his  dinner,  relieved. 
»  »  »  «  « 

But  at  seven  o'clock  that  evening,  when  Ferguson  was  sitting 
in  thought  with  his  old  wife  and  his  granddaughter,  Peter  Macdonald 
came  flying  to  the  door  with  remarkable  news. 

He  had,  he  said,  run  all  the  way  from  his  own  cottage,  and 
now  stood  gasping  and  looking  like  a  wild  thing. 

"  I  have  drowned  one  of  them  already,"  he  declared  presently, 

N  t 

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"  and  I  cannot  get  his  breath  back  into  him.  Maybe  you  will  lend 
me  a  little  whisky.  It  is  a  wicked  sinner  I  am  this  day  if  I  am  to 
have  the  death  of  a  fellow  creature  on  my  mind." 

Ferguson  was  distressed  and  shocked  when  he  understood. 

"  The  Lord  be  guid  to  us  !  "  he  whispered,  as  he  stepped  to  a 
cupboard.     He  took  from  it  a  small  bottle  and  hurried  outside. 

Macdonald  accompanied  him,  but  the  old  head  keeper's  strides 
soon  left  him  behind.  The  Glen  Gisach  man  seemed  dazed  by  his 
feat  of  manslaughter,  as  he  continued  to  believe  it.  He  was  co- 
herent only  as  to  the  fact.  He  had  espied  a  gentleman  fishing  one 
of  the  best  pools  on  the  stream,  not  half  a  mile  from  his  cottage ; 
ay,  and  he  was  into  a  salmon.  And  he  had  gone  to  him  and  found 
him  still  at  that  salmon.  He  had  not  touched  the  gentleman  at 
first — no,  indeed ;  but  he  had  made  it  plain  to  him  that  he  was  not 
now  permitted  to  fish,  no  matter  who  he  was.  And  then  his  temper 
had  got  the  better  of  him.  The  gentleman  swore  at  him — Mac- 
donald had  heard  English  swearing  before,  and  he  recognised  the 
music  of  the  words ;  and,  moreover,  the  gentleman  did  more,  he 
kicked  out  at  him.  And  Macdonald  was  not  likely  to  put  up  with 
that,  in  the  performance  of  his  duty.  Therefore,  he  had  first 
snatched  the  rod  from  the  gentleman,  and  then,  though  not  before 
the  gentleman  had  kicked  him  again  and  used  awful  language  at 
him,  he  had  taken  him  by  the  leg  and  an  arm  and  thrown  him 
into  the  pool  with  the  hooked  salmon.  Having  thrown  him  in, 
he  had  grassed  the  fish,  which  was  very  tired,  and  foul-hooked 
besides.  And  then  he  had  turned  his  attention  to  the  gentleman 
again.  The  gentleman  had  splashed  a  great  deal,  and  screamed, 
and  bobbed  about;  but  he  had  not  thought  there  was  danger 
for  his  life  in  a  pool  only  six  feet  deep  at  the  most.  But  it  was 
so,  indeed ;  and  when  Macdonald  had  gone  in  to  his  middle 
and  landed  him  also,  he  was  quite  still,  with  the  face  of  a  corpse. 
And  that  was  all  indeed,  barring  the  pains  Macdonald  had  ex- 
pended upon  the  poor  gentleman,  first  to  shake  the  water  out  of 
his  stomach,  and  then  (in  his  cottage)  to  warm  the  life  back  into 
him.  And  he  had  left  him  in  his  own  bed,  with  hot  bottles  at 
his  feet  and  all  his  blankets  and  wardrobe  piled  on  the  bed. 

Ferguson  moderated  his  strides  a  little  to  let  his  Skye  cousin 
tell  this  tale. 

**  There  never  was  such  bloody  doings  in  The  Maginton's 
time,"  he  said  briefly  in  comment.  '*  What  kind  of  a  gentleman 
is  he,  Peter,  my  poor  man  ?     Did  you  ever  see  him  before  ?  " 

But  he  was  a  stranger  to  Macdonald.  Macdonald  hadn't 
watched  him  very  closely.  He  Mas  not  much  to  look  at  whatever. 
A  small  body,  with  a  proud,  rude  manner.     And  it  was  all  the  same 

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what  he  was,  he  was  sorry  he  had  thrown  the  poor  creature  into 
the  water.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  done  such  a  thing,  and 
he  would  never  do  it  again — no,  not  for  ten  new  lairds. 

Then,  in  silence,  Ferguson  quickened  his  pace,  distanced 
Macdonald,  and  reached  the  cottage  in  Glen  Gisach  fully  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  ahead  of  his  subordinate. 

Twilight  was  over  the  glen,  and  the  cottage  was  only  faintly 
illumined  by  the  peat  glow  on  the  hearth.  But  there  was  glow 
enough  and  to  spare  to  bring  the  confounding  climax  of  that  great 
day  quite  home  to  the  head  keeper  in  a  moment. 

There,  by  the  wall,  on  the  broken-bottomed  and  worm-eaten 
sofa  which  served  Macdonald  for  a  bed,  lay  the  new  laird  of  Glen 

Ferguson  uttered  a  suitable  exclamation  of  dismay :  and  im- 
mediately afterwards  he  cried  something  else,  also  befitting  the 
occasion,  for  Mr.  Curdling  had  moved  and  his  eyes  were  upon  Fer- 
guson, with  a  beseeching  look  in  them.  Yes,  even  in  that  dim  i 
room,  the  head  keeper  could  see  the  terror  in  his  master's  eyes,  or 
he  thought  so.  And  then,  thankful  to  the  heart,  he  kneeled  by  the 
couch  and  began  his  ministrations. 

Better  still,  they  were  promptly  efficacious.  Mr.  Curdling 
absorbed  the  whisky  with  evident  appetite.  And  while  he  did  so 
Ferguson  poured  out  regrets  and  explanations  and  upbraidings  of 
the  idiocy  of  Macdonald,  as  well  as  whisky. 

*'  But  then,  ye  ken,  sir,"  he  added  to  the  upbraidings,  **  the  fool 
didna  ken  ye  from  a'body  else,  and  wass  only  doing  what  with  my 
ain  tongue  I  did  tell  him  to  do." 

To  all  which  Mr.  Curdling  said  nothing.  He  gulped  down 
whisky,  and  coughed,  and  shut  his  eyes,  and  opened  them  again,  and 
gasped  and  coughed  anew.  ^ 

And  then  Macdonald  crept  in  with  the  face  of  a  haunted  man. 
The  joy  that  came  to  him  with  the  sight  of  the  reviving  gentleman 
on  his  bed  was  checked  a  little  by  the  torrent  of  abuse  which  his 
remote  cousin  flung  at  him.  He  stood  limp  in  the  doorway,  with 
shaking  hands,  until  bidden  to  light  a  lamp. 

The  new  laird  then  spoke. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  whispered.  And,  as  Ferguson  was  a  living 
and  anxious  man,  the  new  laird  seemed  to  laugh  a  short  laugh  after 
the  words  !  **  It's  all  right,  Ferguson.  I  see  how  it  happened.  He 
didn't  know  me." 

*'  He  has  nae  English  worth  a  damn,  sir ! "  cried  the  still- 
appalled  head  keeper.  *'  Licht  the  lamp,  I'm  telling  you,  man. 
And,  look  ye,  Mr.  Curdhng,  I'm  ashamed  that  he  is  related  to  me  at 
all,  though  a  very  far  cousin,  and  only  on  the  mither's  side  at  that. 

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Yes,  indeed.  And  he  shall  gang  awa'  back  to  Skye,  whaur  they  are 
savages  in  the  place  he  comes  frae.  You  will  remember  that,  Mac- 
donald,  in  the  morning.  You  will  go  out  of  the  glen  and  be  off  with 
you  before  sunrise,  and  never  show  your  face  in  Glen  Sloch  again. 
And  another  thing :  One  word  to  any  living  and  intelligent  body 
about  what  you  have  done  this  day  in  Glen  Sloch,  and  I  shall  have 
the  law  at  you  for  assaulting  a  stranger.  Yes,  you  may  well  hold 
your  tongue.  And  be  off  with  you  now  to  your  byre.  You  are  no 
better  than  your  own  cow  ;  not  so  good,  indeed.  I've  tellt  him,  sir," 
he  explained,  gently,  **  that  he  is  to  leave  the  morn.  He  wass  never 
o'  muckle  use  at  ony  time,  and  he'll  no  daur  tell  on  't.  Naebody  in 
the  glen  shall  dae  that,  I  promise  ye,  sir,  as  if  ye  wass  The 
Maginton  himself." 

Once  more  Ferguson  was  amazed  by  the  sound  of  laughter 
from  his  cousin's  nasty  bed.  Mr.  Curdling  was  moving,  and  had 
made  another  discovery. 

'*  Hang  me  if  I'm  not — naked  !  "  he  murmured. 

This  time  he  laughed  almost  vigorously,  as  he  sat  up  and  the 
blankets  fell  from  his  shoulders. 

"  I'll  have  to  borrow  a  kilt,  eh,  Ferguson  ?  "  he  said,  feebly,  yet 
as  if  it  were  a  joke. 

Laughing  again,  he  lay  down.  And  now  he  completed  the  great 
conquest  of  Ferguson's  generous  heart. 

"There's  no  harm  done,"  he  said.  *' Now  I  come  to  think  ot 
it,  I  deserved  it.  He's  an  honest  chap,  whoever  he  is;  and  as  for 
sacking  him — rubbish !  And  you  may  spread  the  story  all  over 
Scotland  for  what  I  care.  The  only  thing  I  do  care  about  is  some 
dinner.  Find  me  some  dry  things,  Ferguson,  old  man,  and  let's 
get  out  of  this.     I'm  feeling  better  now." 

By  the  modest  light  of  his  cousin's  lamp  Ferguson  gazed  with 
set  eyebrows  and  a  firm  mouth  at  his  new  master  during  those 
words  ;  and  then  he  set  the  seal  on  his  continued  and  loyal  alliance 
with  Mr.  CurdHng  of  Glen  Sloch. 

"I'm  askin'  yer  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  "for  thinkin'  what 
I  thought  about  ye.  Ye're  as  fine  a  man  as  The  Maginton  him- 
self, and — I  canna  say  more.      Ye're   a  good  Christian  moreover, 

Mr.  Curdling.     Maybe  Macdonald's  own  Sabbath  clothes " 


In  Peter  Macdonald's  Sabbath  clothes,  somewhat  adjusted, 
Mr.  Curdling  was  anon  escorted  proudly  by  Ferguson  to  the  splen- 
dours of  the  lodge,  and  their  manly  union  was  cemented  ere  the 
gates  were  reached. 

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BY    A.    EGGAR 

The  Burman  villager's  idea  of  time  is  quite  in  keeping  with  his 
casual  nature.  He  measures  time  by  "  a  betel-nut  chew,"  or,  if 
pressed  for  greater  accuracy,  by  **  the  boiling  of  a  pot  of  rice." 

The  sun  is  his  time-piece.  Three  in  the  afternoon  is  indicated 
by  pointing  to  the  sky  half-way  down  towards  the  west,  and  six  in 
the  evening  is  "the  sun-going-in  time,*'  (for  in  this  country  the  sun 
sets  at  almost  the  same  hour  throughout  the  year),  and  the  cocks 
crow  the  watches  of  the  night  at  regular  intervals — at  ten,  one,  and 
four.  At  the  appointed  hour  one  eager  voice  will  be  raised  and 
the  cry  will  be  passed  from  house  to  house,  when  all  will  crow 
together  until  the  discordant  sounds  die  away  with  the  last  shrill 
clarion  of  the  jungle-fowl  in  the  bamboo  thicket  hard  by. 

Night  treads  close  on  the  heels  of  day.  Just  as  two  black- 
smiths, wielding  hammers  in  concert,  trust  in  each  other's  regular 
motion,  and  each  starts  his  hammer  on  its  downward  stroke  before 
the  other  has  left  the  anvil :  so,  even  before  the  sun  has  ended  its 
course,  night  swings  overhead  and  falls  down  the  sky,  flattening  out 
the  glowing  bars  of  cloud  on  the  anvil  of  the  western  horizon.  There 
is  no  long  wait  between  day  and  night.  The  sun  drops  and  chill 
darkness  shuts  down  at  once. 

We  were  seated  one  evening  in  the  house  of  Ko  Po,  the  head- 
man. The  village  of  Choon-thit  is  very  small,  and  the  head-man's 
house  was  of  no  great  pretensions.     Four  legs  of  rough-hewn  tree- 

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trunks  raised  the  floor  above  the  fever-laden  mists.  Three  sides 
were  walled  with  bamboo-matting  and  the  roof  was  thatched  with 
grass.  Access  to  the  open  front  by  means  of  a  tree-trunk  notched 
into  steps  presented  no  difficulty  to  an  agile  man. 

Within,  at  one  corner,  a  canopy  of  dingy  cloth  hung  over  the 
pallet-bed — a  stuffv'  but  peaceful  retreat  from  the  attacks  of  the  per- 
sistent mosquito;  at  the  other  corner  stood  a  loom,  roughly 
made  and  worn  by  use,  the  threads  of  home-spun  cotton  stretched 
along  it ;  near  this  was  an  ingenious  wooden  mangle  at  which  the 
head-man's  wife  was  occupied  in  squeezing  the  black  seeds  from  fluffy 
balls  of  freshly  picked  cotton ;  a  smoky  rush-light  guttered  on  the 
floor  beside  her,  and,  on  mats  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  we  were 
seated  round  the  betel-box  with  blankets  pulled  about  us,  for  the 
night  air  was  wet  and  that  truceless  demon  **ching"  (the  mosquito) 
shrieked  with  triumph  over  every  naked  spot. 

A  short  while  before,  in  the  slanting  sun  the  cattle  had  been 
charging  in  dusty  herds  all  among  the  houses — for  all  must  be  inside 
the  stockade  before  the  sharp-spiked  bamboo  gates  are  wheeled  across 
and  fastened  for  the  night — and  now,  before  we  had  finished  our 
simple  meal,  every  space  was  filled  with  darkness. 

Looking  from  the  open  front  of  the  house  we  could  discern  only 
the  outline  of  the  carved  wood- work  on  the  priest's  house  opposite, 
and  the  gaunt  straight  trunks  of  the  toddy-palms  standing  like 
sentinels  round  the  dark  mass  of  the  pagoda  silhouetted  against  the 
dying  sky.  The  sounds  of  the  village  came  in  with  the  damp  night 
air.  Across  the  way  Ma  Gyee  still  pounded  rice  with  a  regular  thug- 
thug-thug;  and  from  further  off"  came  the  quavering  notes  of  a  bam- 
boo flute  (the  bamboo  flute  sounds  quite  melodious  at  a  distance). 
Then,  when  men  were  silent,  we  could  hear,  through  the  matting  of 
the  wall,  the  buff'aloes  munching  in  the  straw,  and  through  the  gaps 
in  the  floor  the  dogs  arguing  underneath  the  house. 

On  the  top  of  the  pagoda  a  bell  tinkled  lazily,  and  something 
unseen  fluttered  among  the  palm-tree  leaves — a  bat,  perhaps;  or  was 
it  one  of  the  restless  **  Nats,"  those  spirits  that  infest  the  night  ? 
Simple  beliefs  of  an  untaught  people  !  Who  could  not  sympathise 
with  them  here  amid  the  surroundings  that  gave  them  origin  ? 

In  towns  of  human  handiwork  man  may  grow  exultant  by 
reason  of  his  numbers.  But  in  the  forest,  surrounded  by  the  signs  of 
nature's  boundless  energy,  his  spirit  is  subdued  by  the  presence  of  a 
superior  power.  How  slight  he  seems  beside  those  giant  trees  at 
whose  feet  he  wanders ;  and  that  monstrous  creeper,  thicker  than 
a  man's  body,  that  like  some  huge  snake  gliding  from  the  under- 
growth has  sprung  upon  its  prey — the  tree— and  twisted  up  to  its 
very  throat,  where,  with  knots  of  tight-drawn  muscle,  it  chokes  the 

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life  out  of  even  that  great  tower  of  strength  !  But  trees  and  creepers 
must  all  give  place  to  the  untamed  mountain  torrent  that  tears  and 
slashes  its  impatient  way  down  to  the  open  plains. 

Man's    fancy  enthrones,  amid   these  signs  of  strength,  beings 
more  powerful,  than  himself.     He  feels  their  presence  everywhere, 
and  by  modest  offerings  of  tribute  he  seeks  to  avert  their  wrath  and 
enlist  their  sympathies. 

From  the  stag  he  kills,  the  simple  hunter  cuts  the  tips  of  the 
ears  and  lips,  and  puts  those  pieces  in  a  conspicuous  place — on  a 
leaf,  or  in  a  cleft  cut  in 
the  bark  of  a  tree — as  an 
offering  of  atonement.  A 
persistent  vengeance  will 
dog  the  steps  of  the  pre- 
sumptuous man  who  neg- 
lects these  ceremonies 
— how  truly  does  con- 
science make  cowards  of 
us  all. 

He  will  be  hunted  !  an  offering 

The    rotten    bough, 
the  crumbling  cliff,  the  chasm  overgrown  and  hidden  by  the  brush- 
wood— what  are  these  but  traps  laid  for  him,  even  as  he  lays  them 
for  the  beasts  of  lower  order  ? 

The  tiger  will  be  put  upon  his  trail,  and  the  hidden  serpent  lie 
in  wait  with  poisoned  arrow ! 

He  may  avoid  these  dangers  in  the  day, — but  in  the  night  he 
cannot  see  what  causes  that  rustling  in  the  bushes,  those  groans 
and  whispers  in  the  tree-tops,  and  that  cold  wind  which  suddenly 
breathes  upon  his  back ;  and  can  it  be  mere  tree-roots  that  trip  his 
feet,  and  nothing  more  than  creeping  plants  that  twine  about  his 
arms   and   throat   while   the   hostile    darkness    closes   round   him, 

waiting  for  its  opportunity  ? 


**  It  is  truth,"  assented  Ko  Po;  **evil  will  befall  the  man  who 
slights  the  Nats.  When  Brown  Thakin,^  the  young  policeman, 
first  came  here  he  laughed  at  the  *  guardians  of  the  forest.*  He  had 
not  tasted  of  it  then,  nor  known  what  the  lonely  hunter  feels  of  that 
breathing  close  behind  him,  and  that  footfall  in  the  leaves,  nor  what 
the  worker  in  the  clearing  knows  of  the  eyes  that  watch  him  from 
the  face  of  the  forest,  and  the  unseen  hands  that  plant  the  weeds  as 
soon  as  his  back  is  turned.  But  he  was  soon  to  learn,  and  I  helped 
to  teach  him." 

*  Thakin  =  "  Mr."  or  "  the  Englishman." 

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Ko  Po  stopped,  and  pulling  ofif  the  lid  of  the  betel-box,  chose 
out  a  fine  green  leaf  from  the  lower  tray,  smeared  it  with  just  the 
right  amount  of  lime,  snipped  ofif  a  piece  of  betel-nut,  added  a 
peppercorn  and  a  pinch  of  tobacco,  and  rolled  all  up  together,  slowly 
and  deliberately  folding  the  leaf — for  everyone  knows  how  a  well- 
mixed  chew  opens  up  wide  thoughts  and  memories. 

"  One  day,"  resumed  Ko  Po,  "  Brown  Thakin  was  here.  It 
was  the  month  of  the  ripening  crops,  when  the  rains  had  ended,  but 
the  forest  was  thick.  In  the  morning,  Moung  Pu,  the  woodcutter, 
brought  news  of  bison  tracks  fresh  that  very  day.  The  Thakin 
called  me  to  him,  and  quickly  filling  a  bag  with  dried  fruit,  bread, 
and  meat,  and  spirit-water  in  a  flask,  took  two  guns  and  ordered 
me  to  follow. 

'*  One  gun  was  large  and  heavy,  with  two  barrels  wide  enough 
for  the  thumb  to  slip  easily  in.  A  man  might  feel  safe  behind  such 
a  gun  as  that.  But  the  other  was  slight,  and  the  powder-cases  no 
thicker  than  a  rice  stem.  The  Thakin  laughed  at  my  fears,  and 
said  that  he  would  take  the  smaller  gun  himself.  Ah,  he  had  still 
to  learn,  for  he  had  not  yet  seen  a  bison,  nor  felt  it  rushing  on  him 
like  a  falling  teak  tree.  Moung  Pu  came  with  us,  and  when  we 
reached  the  forest  front  I  stopped  to  make  offering  to  the  Nats,  as 
is  the  custom ;  but  the  Thakin  would  hurry  on. 

**  Now  it  is  always  best  to  sit  awhile,  when  the  village  is  left 
behind,  till  the  ears  are  opened  by  the  silence  of  the  forest,  and  all 
rash  haste  has  left  the  body.  Moreover,  by  signs  that  even  a  child 
could  read,  I  knew  that  the  Nats  were  against  us.  The  bamboo 
twigs  kept  slashing  in  my  eyes  as  the  Thakin  brushed  past  them, 
and  the  thorny  creepers  pulled  him  back  by  his  coat,  while  the 
stones  dislodged  by  his  careless  feet  went  leaping  down  among  the 
bushes  with  more  than  needful  noise;  the  squirrels,  too,  in  the 
trees  scampered  chuckling  on  ahead  to  warn  the  game. 

**  It  was  in  a  path  through  the  kine  grass  that  we  first  picked 
up  the  footprints,  deep  and  fresh,  for  the  ground  was  soft — a  heavy 
beast,  tall  as  the  hand  could  reach,  I  knew,  and  the  breadth  of 
three  men.^  It  had  been  walking  slowly,  eating  as  it  went.  The 
Thakin  pressed  on  ahead,  for  the  tracks  were  easy ;  but  soon  he 
stopped  where  the  ground  was  hard  and  stony,  for  he  had  lost  the 
signs.  I  could  see  them,  where  the  red  stone  was  scraped.  The 
beast  had  turned  to  the  right  and  climbed  the  hillside,  but  I  made 
pretence  to  cast  around,  for  it  was  good  that  the  Thakin  should  rest. 

**  When  he  was  quieter  he  agreed  that  I  should  lead  the  way; 
but  that  bison,  in  obedience  to  the  Nats,  had  purposely  confused 

1  The  Burma  bison  stands  twenty-one  hands. 

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his   tracks,   for  his  marks   led  up  hills   and   down  again  over  the 

slippery   bamboo  leaves  in  nearly  the  same  path,   and  round  and 

round  where  the  ground  was  hard  and  stony  and  signs  were  few, 

and  through  marshy  places  where  the  going  was  heavy  and  the  feet 

must  be  withdrawn  slowly  for  fear  of  noise.     And  so  the  whole  day 

through,  until  at  last  I  could  see  no  more,  and  cast  around  in  vain. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  lost  a  trail. 

"  But  the  night  was  on  us,  and,  as  quietly  as  possible,  we  had 
to  make  a  thatch  of  grass  and  bring  water  from  the  stream  and  sit 
and  sup.  It  was  a  black  night,  and  I  was  uneasy,  for  the  dew  fell 
heavily  and  the  wailing  ching  stabbed  even  through  the  clothes. 
Moung  Pu  kept  scratching  his  leg  with  a  noise  like  the  sharpening  of 


a  saw,  until  the  Thakin  woke  up  and  declared  that  if  he  did  not 
stop  there  would  be  no  game  within  a  day's  march. 

*'  I  Could  not  sleep,  but  sat  listening  to  the  song  of  the  frogs 
and  the  cry  of  a  waterfowl  in  the  valley.  My  thoughts  were  of  the 
cunning  ways  of  bison — of  how  he  will  lead  the  hunter  through 
the  tall,  thick  grass,  where  the  track  ends  a  step  in  front  and  is  cut 
off  a  step  behind  ;  a  wall  of  green  on  either  side.  There  the  hunter 
must  be  wary,  for  the  bison  will  make  a  circle  back  and  stand  hid 
beside  the  path,  waiting,  to  hunt  the  hunter.  Twice  in  the  night  I 
heard  the  voice  of  a  tiger  calling  like  a  she-cat  for  its  young,  once 
far  away,  then  nearer.  The  Thakin  was  asleep,  but  Moung  Pu 
heard — I  felt  him. 

"  *  Let  us  appease  the  Nat,'  he  whispered ;  and  taking  what 
food  there  was  left,  he  laid  it  under  a  bush  ten  paces  off  and  then 
crept  back. 

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"  Thus  we  sat  and  almost  fell  asleep.  But  the  ear  was  still 
listening  and  suddenly  jerked  the  bcxly  into  wakefulness.  What 
was  that  ? — the  crack  of  a  twig  !  *  Pat,  pat ' — a  footfall  in  the  leaves. 
*  Pit,  pat,  pat ' — coming  straight  toward  us !  Moung  Pu  groaned 
softly,  *  Amai,^  it  is  a  devil  sent  to  take  us !  ' 

**  I  gripped  his  arm  to  force  him  into  silence,  the  fool.  The 
thing  had  not  yet  got  our  scent  and  was  coming  nearer.  It  stopped. 
Ah,  it  must  have  found  the  offering,  for  the  fireflies  glimmering 
round  the  spot  rose  and  hovered  in  wider  circles.  There  was  a 
sound  of  gobbling  jaws.  A  snort.  Then  'crash,  crash,  crash,*  it 
bounded  straight  away. 


*'  *  Was  it  a  boar  ? '  you  ask.  I  cannot  say  what  shapes  the  Nats 
assume,  but  the  offering  had  been  accepted,  and  from  that  time 
I  knew  that  the  luck  would  turn,  and  fell  asleep. 

*  *  *  *  '      * 

**  *  Haarh  !  haarh  ! — haarh  !  '  We  were  all  awake  at  once.  It 
was  a  barking  deer  close  by  in  the  valley  disturbed  by  something. 
Then,  from  the  same  direction,  *  Pwook ' — the  sound  of  a  heavy 
hoof  withdrawn  from  the  mud.  It  would  soon  be  light,  for  the 
white  finger  of  the  dawn  was  already  pointing  skywards  and  the 
cocks  were  crowing  in  the  bamboos.  We  heard  the  beast  below 
climbing  the  steep  hillside  opposite,  in  no  hurry,  but  with  a  clatter 
of  stones  and  tearing  of  branches  as  he  pushed  his  way  through  the 
scrub.  He  must  have  reached  the  top  and  passed  over  to  the  other 
side,  for  the  sounds  ceased. 

**  As  soon  as  it  was  light  we  sought  for  the  tracks.  They  were 
the  same.  Deep  marked  on  the  hindmost  where  it  had  leapt  the 
stream,  the  water  trickling  into  them,  and  a  crushed  blade  of  grass 
still  straightening  itself.  But  we  were  near,  and  the  fewer  of  us  the 
better.  So  Moung  Pu  stayed  behind  and  we  two  went  on — slowly, 
and  inch  by  inch,  carefully  choosing  footholds  between  the  sticks 
and  leaves,  the  one  foot  supporting  the  full  weight  before  the  other 
dared  to  move.  We  people  know  how  to  do  it,  but  Thakins  soon 
grow  tired,  and  their  clothes  brush  against  the  bushes  ;  it  is  a 
wonder  they  ever  get  near  the  game. 

'*  We  must  have  got  very  close,  for  the  smell  of  bison  was  on 
the  leaves,  and  in  a  pool  where  it  had  drunk  there  floated  bursting 
bubbles  of  green  spittle.  We  stopped  to  take  the  wind.  Ah,  good 
luck  !  it  was  floating  down  towards  us.  The  tracks  led  through  the 
tall,  wet  grass.  Thakin  went  first,  still  holding  his  little  gun,  and 
I  behind. 

^  Amai  =  *'  Mother,"  an  exclamation. 

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**  Suddenly — *  Huh,  huh  !  *  and  a  crashing  through  the  grass. 

Only  a  boar,  as  startled  as  we.     But  listen.     Had  that  noise  started 

the  bison?     No  sound.     Silently  we  proceeded;  I  close  behind,  so 

that  the  one  parting  of  the  grass  should  suffice  for  two;  so  close 

that  my  face  came  against  his  back. 

'*  He  had  stopped ;  for  there,  five  paces  off  in  an  open  space, 
stood  the  king  of  bisons,  facing  us  with  red  anger  in  his  eyes,  and 
breath  that  came  in  snorts !  Slowly  the  Thakin  raised  his  gun. 
Oh,  surely  he  need  not  take  so  long !  What  would  he  say  if  I  fired 
first  ?  The  bison  did  not  wait,  but  stamped  with  his  forefoot  and 
charged  straight  upon  us.  The  gun  spoke  once,  but  in  no  way 
stopped  that  awful  rush.  I  leapt  to  one  side,  the  Thakin  fell  flat, 
and  the  beast  in  charging  leapt  right  over  him  and  was  carried  by 
his  own  weight  onwards  through  the  grass.  But  in  twenty  paces 
he  stopped,  planting  his  forefeet  deep,  and  turned  to  come  again 
head  down. 

** '  Thakin,  take  this  gun,'  I  cried. 

**  He  pushed  it  aside,  and  kneeling,  fired  twice.  I  fired  once  at 
the  bended  neck.  His  forelegs  doubled  up,  and  with  a  thundering 
shock  his  body  was  carried  right  up  to  our  feet.  He  stniggled  to 
rise,  tearing  the  ground  with  his  hoofs.  *  The  head  ! — shoot  the 
head ! '  The  beast  rolled  over,  eyes  staring,  dead.  Its  body 
sweltered  in  its  steam." 

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THE    EGERTON    HOUSE    STUD,    1905 

BY     GILBERT     H.     PARSONS 

{WUh  Photographs  taken  by  the  Author.) 

The  training  establishment  controlled  by  Richard  Marsh  at  New- 
market is  of  the  highest  standing,  as  need  scarcely  be  said :  but  it  is 
perhaps  not  so  generally  known  that  the  King's  trainer  also  manages 
one  of  the  most  important  breeding  studs,  namely  the  Egerton 
House  Farm,  which  is  situated  just  behind  his  stables,  on  the 
Racecourse  side  of  Newmarket,  not  very  far  from  the  historic 

The  farm  buildings  occupy  a  considerable  area,  and  are  charm- 
ingly placed  in  the  midst  of  secluded  paddocks  which  plantations 
and  strips  of  woodland  render  picturesque ;  the  boxes  stand  round 
three  sides  of  a  well-tended  lawn,  broken  here  and  there  by 
clumps  of  shrubs,  the  stud  groom's  house  on  the  north  side  over- 
looking the  whole.  Immediately  to  the  right  of  his  domain  are  the 
stallion  boxes  with  their  spacious  yards.  The  time  of  our  visit  was 
April,  when  the  season  was  just  at  its  height ;  and  one  often  wonders 
if  even  those  intimately  connected  with  the  Turf  ever  fully  realise 
the  vast  responsibility  that  falls  on  the  shoulders  of  the  stud  groom 
of  one  of  these  establishments,  especially  at  this  time.  In  Alfred 
Smallwood  *'  Dick  "  Marsh  possesses  a  most  able  lieutenanti  for  he 

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THE    EGERTON    HOUSE    STUD,    1905  197 

is  a  man  who  has  his  business  at  his  finger-tips,  the  perfect  order 
with  which  everything  is  carried  out  and  the  condition  of  his 
charges  speaking  volumes  for  the  efficiency  with  which  he  fills  his 
most  important  position. 

At  the  time  of  writing  Smallwood  had  five  very  notable  sires 
under  his  care — Cyllene,  Ayrshire,  Common,  St.  Serf,  and  Ugly — 
and  the  collection  of  matrons  visiting  these  horses  was  a  large  and 
distinguished  one — almost,  indeed,  of  priceless  value. 

The  first  of  the  sires  led  out  for  inspection  is  an  old  favourite, 
a  sterling  racer  in  his  day,  Ayrshire  by  Hampton — Atalanta  by 
Galopin,  and  though  in  his  twenty-first  year  the  old  horse  is 
looking  the  picture  of  health ;  nor  does  he  seem  to  have  lost  any  of 
the  fire  and  spirit  of  his  youth.     He  is  a  very  compactly  built  horse 



standing  sixteen  hands,  girthing  6  ft.  4  in.,  beautifully  let  down 
behind  the  saddle,  with  rare  powerful  quarters,  and  sound,  clean 
limbs.  This  bay  son  of  Hampton  was  the  first  to  carry  the  Duke 
of  Portland's  black  and  white  to  the  fore  at  Epsom,  but  he  won 
other  good  races,  and  a  brief  sketch  of  his  Turf  career  may  not  be 
without  interest.  As  a  two-year-old  he  started  well  by  taking  the 
Chesterfield  Stakes  at  Newmarket,  the  Prince  of  Wales  Stakes  at 
Goodwood,  and  the  Champagne  Stakes  at  Doncaster,  keeping  up 
his  reputation  by  winning  during  the  following  season  the  Two 
Thousand,  D^rby,  and  Foil  Stakes  at  Newmirket.  Seabreeze  beat 
him  in  the  St.  Leger  and  at  Manchester,  but  he  took  his  revenge  as 
a  four-year-old  by  securing  the  Royal  Stakes  at  Kempton,  and  the 

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Eclipse  Stakes  at  Sandown,  the  mare  being  behind  him  on  both 

Ayrshire  has  proved  an  undisputed  success  at  the  stud,  his 
record  as  a  sire  being  most  consistent.  From  1901  to  1905  his  stock 
have  won  not  far  short  of  ;f  60,000  in  stakes,  and  a  very  remarkable 
feature  is  the  number  of  winners  of  his  parentage.  The  most 
notable  of  his  progeny  are  Airs  and  Graces  and  Our  Lassie,  both 
Oaks  winners;  Robert  le  Diable  and  Airship,  winners  of  good  handi- 
caps ;  Ballantrae,  a  Cambridgeshire  winner;  Gas,  dam  of  Cicero ; 
Cossack,  Doctrine,  Airlie,  Heir  Male,  and  a  host  of  others. 

When  the  next  box  is  unlocked  a  treat  is  in  store,  for  one  of 
the  handsomest   horses   in    England    comes  bounding  out  with  a 


snort,  and  draws  himself  up  at  attention.  This  is  Cyllene,  a  beau- 
tiful chestnut,  son  of  Bonavista  and  Arcadia  by  Isonomy.  He  is  a 
magnificent  picture  of  what  a  high-class  blood  sire  should  be,  speed, 
strength,  and  symmetry  being  exquisitely  blended  into  one  perfect 
whole,  for  from  his  intelligent  head  right  down  to  his  hoofs  it  is 
hard  to  find  a  single  fault.  He  bears  a  striking  resemblance  to  his 
distinguished  grandsire  Bend  Or,  the  beautiful  dapples  on  his  back 

^  The  way  in  which  Friar's  Balsam  beat  him  at  Ascot  shows,  however,  how 
diflferent  Ayrshire's  record  would  have  been  had  the  son  of  Hermit  escaped  mis- 

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THE    EGERTON    HOUSE    STUD,    1905  199 

and  quarters  showing  up  prominently,  while  he  is  as  good-tempered 
and  docile  as  could  possibly  be  wished. 

Cyllene  was  not  found  wanting  on  the  racecourse,  in  fact  he 

was  about  the  best  of  his  year,  and  had  his  breeder,  Mr.  C.  D.  Rose, 

entered  him  in  the  Derby  he  would  undoubtedly  have  figured  in  the 

list  of  winners  of  the  great  Epsom  race.    Out  of  five  attempts  in  his 

first  season  he  caught  the  judge's  eye  on  four  occasions,  these  being 

in  the  Sefton  Park  Plate  at  Liverpool,  the  Worth  Stakes  at  Gatwick, 

Forty-fifth  Triennial  Stakes  at  Ascot,  and  the  National  Breeders' 

Produce  Stakes  at  Kempton  Park ;  and  when  he  met  with  reverse  in 

the  Imperial  Produce  Stakes  at  Kempton  he  was  by  no  means 
disgraced,  for  he  ran  a  good  second  to  the  smart  Dieudonn6,  to 
whom  he  was  giving  10  lb.  As  a  three- year-old  he  won  the  New- 
market Stakes  with  the  greatest  ease,  and  also  added  the  Sandown 
Foal  Stakes  and  Jockey  Club  Stakes  to  his  triumphs.  The  next 
year  he  set  the  seal  on  his  fame  by  winning  the  Ascot  Gold  Cup, 
this  being  his  last  appearance  on  the  Turf. 

At  the  stud  Cyllene  was  perhaps  a  little  neglected  at  first,  but 
since  then  he  has  come  to  the  front  by  leaps  and  bounds,  his  success 
being  quite  phenomenal,  and  having  done  much  to  revive  the  glories 
of  the  Stockwell  line.    Cicero,  last  year's  Derby  winner,  is  one  of  his 

MO.  cxxvii,    VOL.  XXII. — Ftbruary  1906  O 

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best  sons ;  Polymelus,  whom  Lord  Crewe  has  just  sold  for  ^f  10,000, 
is  another  fine  colt,  who  should  win  good  races  for  his  new  owner. 
Then  we  have  the  speedy  filly,  Sweet  Mary,  not  very  far  from  the 
top  of  last  season's  two-year-old  handicap,  of  whom  great  things 
are  expected,  to  say  nothing  of  Cyanean  and  other  good  horses. 

When  Cyllene  passed  into  Mr.  W.  Bass's  possession  for  the 
large  sum  of  30,000  guineas  many  doubted  the  soundness  of  the 
investment ;  but  when  one  takes  into  consideration  how  the  horse's 
services  are  sought  after  for  the  choicest  mares,  and  the  promise 
shown  by  his  young  stock,  it  is  no  great  error  to  state  that  there  are 
few  if  any  sires  for  whom  the  future  holds  out  a  more  brilliant 

Common  next  claims  our  attention,  and  he  strongly  objected  to 
standing  for  his  portrait ;  when  he  did  settle,  however,  a  very  char- 
acteristic likeness  of  him  was  secured,  a  fitting  reward  for  over  an 
hour's  trouble.  Bred  by  Sir  Frederick  Johnstone  in  1888,  Common 
is  a  son  of  the  great  Isonomy  and  Thistle,  the  dam  of  Throstle.  He 
is  a  very  dark  brown  horse  of  sixteen  hands,  and  though  not  perhaps 
a  particularly  handsome  one,  he  has  done  decidedly  well. 

Big  and  backward  as  a  two-year-old,  the  colt's  breeder  and  his 
partner,  the  late  Lord  Alington,  decided  not  to  risk  his  reputation  till 
the  following  year,  a  policy  by  which  they  benefited  to  a  marked  degree, 
for  Common  not  only  won  the  Derby,  but  joined  the  select  band  of 
wearers  of  the  *'  Triple  Crown  "  by  winning  the  Two  Thousand  and 

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THE  EGERTON    HOUSE    STUD,    1905  201 

Leger,    afterwards  finding  a  purchaser  in  the  late  Sir  J.  Blundell 
Maple  at  3^15,000. 

Common  began  stud  life  at  Childwick,  but  he  has  been  some- 
what  of   a   disappointment,   the  great  winner  to  uphold  his  name 
having  not  yet  arrived;  however,  he  is  represented  by  Nun  Nicer, 
winner   of  the   One  Thousand,   Bowery,  Newsboy,  Commune,  The 
Bishop,  Cottager,  Simony,  and  some  other  useful  horses. 

The  Duke  of  Portland  has  another  sire  at  Egerton  House;  this 

is  St.  Serf  by  St.  Simon — Feronia  by  Thormanby,  a  very  powerfully 

built  brown  standing  16  h.  3  in.,  well  let  down,  with  specially  good 

quarters  and  loins.     St.  Serf  was  a  successful  racehorse  in  his  day, 

winning  the  Rous  Memorial  Stakes  at  Ascot  in  1890  as  a  three-year- 
old.  He  has  earned  considerable  distinction  at  the  stud,  his  stock 
from  1901  to  1905  having  won  3^37,347  in  stake  money,  and  amongst 
the  animals  that  own  him  as  a  sire  are  Thais,  winner  of  the  One 
Thousand  in  1896,  Calverley,  Rice,  St.  Lundi,  Skopos,  Shaddock, 
St.  la,  Ian,  Bitters,  and  others.  The  sensational  victory  of 
Challacombe,  one  of  his  sons,  in  this  year's  St.  Leger,  has  also 
added  fresh  lustre  to  his  fame. 

Lord  Wolverton's  Ugly,  by  Minting — Wee  Agnes  by  Strathconan, 
is  the  last  of  the  staUions.     His  name  was  doubtless  derived  from 

o  2 

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his  ugly  lop  ears,  for  otherwise  he  is  a  horse  of  pleasing  conforma- 
tion, having  a  strong  back  and  loins  and  immense  bone.  He  stood 
the  ordeal  of  training  for  seven  years,  and  won  no  fewer  than  twenty- 
two  races.  His  speed  was  exceptional,  and  he  ranked  as  quite  a  top 
sawyer  as  far  as  sprint  handicaps  were  concerned.  At  the  low  fee  of 
ten  guineas  he  has  been  well  patronised,  and  his  stock  already  show 
that  they  inherit  the  gift  of  going,  some  of  his  two-year-olds  during 
last  season  having  been  very  useful. 

We  now  start  a  tour  of  inspection  of  the  mares,  many  of  them 
with  young  foals  at  foot.  Not  far  down  the  drive  we  come  to  a 
sheltered  little  paddock  with  only  two  occupants,  but  one  a  host  in 

herself,  for  it  is  none  other  than  the  great  Sceptre.  Her  companion 
is  Skyscraper,  a  nice  little  chestnut  mare  of  Mr.  Raphael's.  As 
Sceptre  stands  with  head  aloft  and  ears  pricked  one  wonders  if  she 
recollects  those  stirring  scenes  'mid  the  din  and  bustle  of  the  race- 
course of  which  she  was  the  central  figure !  Nothing  breaks  the 
calm  of  her  life  now ;  the  firm  strong  muscles  of  the  trained  racer 
are  relaxed,  the  brilliant  polish  of  her  skin  is  now  replaced  by  a  long 
and  shaggy  coat  splashed  with  mud ;  but  there  still  remain  the 
grandness  of  her  form,  the  grace  of  movement,  and  magnificence  of 
her  proportions,  which  in  a  few  years'  time  when  she  has  filled  out 
a  bit  more  will  stamp  her  as  a  brood  mare  of  the  highest  caste. 

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THE    EGERTON     HOUSE    STUD,    1905  203 

Though  it  is  not  so  long  since  Sceptre  ran,  one  may  be  pardoned 
for  dwelling  a  brief  space  at  the  dazzling  page  of  Turf  history  that 
she  left  to  be  handed  down  to  posterity. 

With  a  pang  of  regret  we  recall  the  fact  that  she  did  not  carry 
the  time-honoured  yellow  jacket  of  her  breeder,  the  late  Duke  of 
Westminster.  Persimmon's  daughter  made  the  record  price  for  a 
yearling,  of  10,000  guineas,  when  she  fell  to  Mr.  Robert  Sievier's  bid 
at  the  late  Duke's  sale  in  1900.  Her  two-year-old  career  opened 
with  victory  in  the  Woodcote  Stakes  at  Epsom  ;  this  she  followed 
up  by  taking  the  July  Stakes  at  Newmarket  without  an  effort ;  but 
she  went  down,  when  amiss,  in  the  Champagne  Stakes  at  Doncaster 


later  in  the  year.  In  the  Coronation  year,  1902,  considerable 
surprise  was  expressed  by  some  at  the  fact  of  her  going  to  the  post 
for  the  Lincoln  Handicap  so  early  in  the  season,  but  she  was  only 
beaten  by  a  head,  which  might  have  been  in  her  favour  had  not  her 
jockey  been  over-anxious.  Then  followed  sweeping  victories  in  both 
the  **  Guineas,"  and  in  record  time  as  well ;  but  she  failed  hopelessly 
in  the  Derby,  her  form  being  too  bad  to  be  true.  An  unsuccessful 
attempt  to  bring  the  Grand  Prix  across  the  Channel  followed  her 
triumph  in  the  Oaks.  She  was  returned  a  winner  at  both  Ascot  and 
Goodwood,  and  also  tasted  defeat  at  these  meetings.  On  the  Town 
Moor  she  carried  off  the  St.  Leger  in  smashing  style :  and  then  a 

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futile  effort  to  overhaul  Elba  in  the  Park  Hill  Stakes  was  her  last 
attempt  as  a  three-year-old. 

Mr.  Sievier  then  sold  his  great  mare  to  Mr.  W.  Bass  for 
;f25,ooo,  and  she  first  carried  his  colours  in  the  Eclipse  Stakes  as  a 
four-year-old,  when  Ard  Patrick  beat  her  by  a  neck  after  a  terrific 
struggle.  She  next  gave  Rock  Sand  15  lb.  and  cantered  in  four 
lengths  in  front  of  him  for  the  Jockey  Club  Stakes  at  Newmarket, 
and  ran  a  great  race  in  the  Duke  of  York  Stakes  at  Kempton,  where, 
carrying  top  weight,  and  after  being  badly  interfered  with  during  the 
race,  she  snatched  the  verdict  from  Happy  Slave  by  the  shortest  of 
heads,  amidst  intense  excitement. 


Sceptre  continued  her  triumphal  progress  to  the  end  of  her  four- 
year-old  career,  but  she  did  not  retain  her  form  the  following  season, 
and  was  then  put  to  the  stud,  her  first  mate  having  been  Cyllene ; 
and  the  result  of  the  union  is  awaited  with  keen  interest  by  all  her 
admirers.  As  the  dam  of  Cicero,  Lord  Rosebery's  third  Derby 
winner.  Gas  is  not  without  interest.  She  is  a  small,  nicely  moulded 
brown  daughter  of  Ayrshire  and  Illuminata,  and  was  heavily  in  foal 
to  Sir  Visto  when  photographed. 

Quintessence  was  very  proud  of  her  first  foal  by  Orion,  a 
remarkably  well-bred  sire.    In   her   racing  days   she  carried    Lord 

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THE    EGERTON    HOUSE    STUD,    1905  ^^5 

Falmouth's  jacket  with  great  success,  winning  the  One  Thousa/jcf  as 

well  as   other  races,  and  never  being  beaten.     Her  pedigree  is  by 

St.   Frusquin — Margarine.      Memoir,   by  St.  Simon — Quiver,  own 

sister  to  La  Fleche,  was  one  of  those  flying  fillies  who  brought  the 

great  Welbeck  sire  to  the  fore.     She  won  the  Newmarket  Stakes, 

Oaks  and  St.  L^er,  and  other  good  races ;  but  since  she  left  the 

post    for    the   paddock  her  value  as  a   brood  mare  has  depended 

almost  entirely  on  John  o'  Gaunt.     La  Roche,  by  St.  Simon — Miss 

Mildred,  is  another  Welbeck  mare,  and  like  Memoir  on  a  visit  to 

Cyllene.     The  Oaks  and  Manchester  Cup  fell  to  her  share  in  1900. 

The  King  sends  two  mares  to  the  sire  of  Cicero  :  Vane,  an  own 
sister  to  Flying  Fox,  and  Laodamia,  a  well-known  performer  who  is 
heavy  in  foal  to  St.  Simon. 

Space  forbids  reference  to  all  the  mares  at  this  extensive 
establishment,  so  we  must  pass  on  with  only  a  brief  note  here  and 
there  about  the  most  prominent,  and  in  many  cases  names  only 
must  suffice.  The  Duke  of  Portland's  Tact  is  in  foal  to  St.  Serf  and 
visits  him  again ;  then  come  Nenemoosha,  dam  of  Cyanean,  who 
goes  to  Cyllene;  and  another  mare  booked  to  the  same  sire  is  Lady 
Orme,  with  a  bay  colt  by  St.  Simon.  Idle  Band,  with  a  chestnut 
filly  by  Winkfield,  is  on  a  visit  to  Common,  as  also  are  Microscope 

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and  Chrysomel  with  foals  by  Amphion  and  Ocean  Wave  resp)ec- 
tively.  On  Ayrshire's  list  is  Sophie,  interesting  as  she  has  the 
only  Ard  Patrick  foal  in  England ;  Barndoor ;  Yours,  dam  of  Our 
Lassie;  Autumn  Rose,  with  a  filly  by  Chaleureux;  and  others. 
Some  nice  mares  nominated  to  St.  Serf  are  Butterine,  Loodiana, 
Golden  Dream,  and  Kentish  Cherry.  The  owners  of  Chasse  Caf6, 
Tertia,  and  Granny  are  patronising  Ugly.  Many  other  mares 
were  due  to  arrive,  some  of  them  of  considerable  note. 

I  must  close  with  a  hope  that  these  few  brief  notes  will  convey 
an  idea  of  the  magnitude  and  importance  of  the  Egerton  Stud,  and 
of  its  influence  on  the  breeding  of  bloodstock  generally. 

LA    ROCHE     BY     ST.     SIMON,     WINNER     OF     THE     OAKS     AND    MANCHESTER    CUP,     igOO 

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Our  lake  is  big,  beautiful,  exasperating,  and  enchanting.  I  never 
fish  it  without  expecting  to  catch  a  monster,  for  I  know  that 
its  waters  contain  superb  specimens  of  several  kinds  of  fish,  and  the 
quantity  of  its  inhabitants  is  enormous.  Bream  swim  about  rest- 
lessly in  vast  shoals;  timid  tench  play  sometimes  near  the  shore  and 
amaze  spectators  by  their  number  and  size ;  suspicious  carp  im- 
ported from  a  neighbouring  stewpond  are  sometimes  seen,  and  very 
rarely  caught.  Of  course  these  three  become  quite  unassailable, 
honourably,  in  winter.  Perch  seem  as  plentiful  as  at  Slapton  Ley. 
A  quiet  peep  over  the  side  of  the  boat  in  shallow  places  shows  that 
there  are  countless  rudd  and  roach,  and  the  ungregarious  pike  will  run 
at  a  bait  in  almost  every  one  of  the  hundred  acres  of  reed-surrounded 
'water  that  is  set  in  a  frame  of  beautiful  trees.  The  sanctum  of  its 
owner  displays  superb  specimens  of  the  fish,  the  noblest  of  them 
all  a  pike  of  33  lb.,  a  straight-backed  creature,  well  "set  up"  in 
more  senses  than  one ;  one  might  say,  almost  as  a  matter  of  course, 
that  it  is  a  female  fish,  since  the  ladies  of  the  Esox  family  seem  the 
predominant  partners. 

I  chanced  to  begin  my  operations  at  an  ill-chosen  season, 
rather  late  for  bottom  fishing,  and  early  for  pike.  The  result  of 
ground-baiting  different  swims  with  bushels  of  bran,  bread,  barley- 
meal,  and  potatoes,  and  many  hundreds  of  the  humble  creatures 
that  Walton  did  not  tell  us  to  use  as  though  we  loved  them, 
Mras  rather  disappointing.  The  lake  merely  offered  samples  of 
its  wares  and  refused  to  deliver  serious  quantities.      A  few  bream, 

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the  biggest  of  them  a  three-pounder,  were  landed ;  indeed,  I  did  a 
little  better  with  the  tench,  for  now  and  again,  when  hope  and  the 
light  had  almost  faded,  my  float  played  mysterious  antics,  and  then, 
after  some  rather  leisurely  rushes  over  a  narrow  area,  a  tench  came 
into  the  boat — not  the  tench  of  my  dreams,  for  I  had  dreamt  of 
six-pounders,  and  none  of  them  quite  reached  three,  nor  the  tench 
of  my  old  experience,  for  these  were  pale  bronze  in  colour,  instead 
of  mysterious  green,  and  their  eyes  lacked  the  strange  pigeon 's- 
blood  tinge.  Moreover,  like  all  the  other  fish  of  the  lake,  they  were 
slimeless;  indeed,  to  touch  them  was  a  pleasure,  owing  to  their 
curious  smooth  velvety  surface.  I  never  caught  more  than  two  at 
a  sitting.  The  perch  behaved  a  little  more  kindly.  One  could  not 
try  anywhere  without  catching  little  ones,  and  sometimes  a  good 
fish  presented  itself.  For  instance,  one  evening  we  angled  for  them, 
using  small  rudd  as  live  bait;  these  we  had  caught  with  great 
difficulty  among  the  weeds,  since  no  fish  of  any  kind  ever  entered 
my  minnow  trap,  though  we  set  it  in  the  small  outlet  stream,  and 
baited  with  all  kinds  of  luxuries.  All  our  little  baits  attracted 
attention.  Small  pike  appropriated  half  a  dozen,  and  three  of  the 
rascals  were  landed,  whilst  the  others  bit  through  the  gut  and  got 
away.  The  best  of  the  perch  on  that  occasion  was  a  pretty  fish 
of  I J  lb. 

Some  weeks  later,  during  a  cold  north-wester  I  fished  a  swim 
which  I  had  baited  up  with  worms  for  two  nights  running,  and  had 
one  bite,  one  only  ;  but  the  fish  weighed  2  lb.  13  oz.  by  my  spring 
balance,  2  lb.  10  oz.  by  a  less  flattering  instrument,  and  if  we  had 
not  already  upon  our  walls  two  perch,  one  of  3jlb.,  the  other  a  little 
heavier,  it  would  have  enjoyed  the  honour  of  being  set  up.  People 
who  despise  *'  coarse  '*  fish  should  eat  a  perch  from  our  lake  ;  he  is 
almost  as  good  as  red  mullet,  and  better  than  most  trout.  There 
was  quite  an  incident  during  our  perch-fishing,  for  one  day  when  I 
struck  after  a  bite  I  found  there  was  something  on  my  hook  heavier 
than  perch  or  bream  or  tench,  and  after  a  few  minutes  dragged  almost 
within  range  of  George,  my  gillie,  a  pike  which  caused  him  to  give  a 
shout,  and  appeared  to  me  to  be  well  in  its  teens.  We  loosed  the 
punt  from  the  poles  and  went  after  it  with  very  low  hopes.  Twice  the 
fish  ran  into  weed  clumps  and  I  got  him  out,  each  time  bringing  him 
almost  near  enough  for  the  net ;  but  on  the  third  occasion,  when  I 
was  pulling  gingerly  for  fear  of  breaking  the  gut,  the  villain 
simplified  my  task  by  biting  it  into  two.  One  has  curious  luck  in 
such  matters.  The  next  day  I  landed  a  little  pike  which  had  taken 
bread-crust  on  a  No.  14  hook  whipped  to  5-x  gut.  Once  we  caught 
five  jack  on  fine  undrawn  gut,  and  another  time  lost  four  hooks  in 
about  ten  minutes.     Why  is  it  that  nature  has  given  pike  its  seven 

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AUTUMN    FISHING    ON    OUR    LAKE  209 

hundred  or  so  of  sharp  teeth  to  assist  it  in  feeding  on  food  that 
it  never  chews  or  even  bites  into  pieces,  but  swallows  whole  however 
big;  whilst  the  perch,  which  in  the  main  has  exactly  the  same  diet, 
has  no  need  for  the  dentist,  since  it  possesses  hardly  a  discernible 
tooth  in  its  big  tender  mouth  ?  The  teeth  can  hardly  have  been 
given  merely  for  the  purpose  of  compelling  the  angler  to  apply  to 
the  theatrical  costumier  for  gimp,  the  main  part  of  his  tackle,  and 
of  enabling  him  to  acquire  a  golf  vocabulary  in  consequence  of  the 
horrible  treachery  of  the  exasperating  material. 

The  pike  caught  during  my  thirty  days  or  so  amounted  to 
about  three  hundred,  of  which  all  but  thirty  were  taken  by  spinning 
and  as  the  result  of  a  vast  amount  of  hard  labour :  if  I  were  to  work 

as  hard  and  earnestly  as  I  play,  I  should  become  rich.  Live  bait 
swam  about  for  hours  at  a  time  without  attracting  attention,  and 
the  best  two  fish  caught  on  float  or  paternoster  were  an  eight  and  a 
six  pounder.  The  fact  is  strange,  since  in  the  hope  of  catching  a 
big  specimen  I  had  three  live  baits  out  for  about  three  hours  every 
day.  Of  course  I  do  not  complain,  since  I  take  far  greater  pleasure 
in  one  pike  caught  by  spinning  than  a  dozen  captured  in  the  duffer's 
method.  An  average  of  nine  pike  a  day  to  one  boat  in  September, 
of  course,  is  very  good  ;  but  then  they  ran  small  as  a  rule.  Nearly 
all  of  them  were  male  fish ;  in  fact  the  Jills  were  far  more  cautious 
or  sluggish  than  the  Jacks,  which  I  fancy  is  not  often  the  case. 

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Amongst  all  of  them  I  only  know  of  three  that  reached  two  figures, 
though  some  that  were  hooked  and  escaped  without  being  seen  may 
have  been  very  large.  One  was  the  fellow  which  bit  through  my 
worm  tackle;  the  second  gave  us  an  anxious  quarter  of  an  hour 
during  a  north-west  gale,  and  though  I  kept  it  out  of  the  reeds,  and 
even  lifted  it  twice  over  the  rope  attached  to  the  big  stone  that 
helped  us  when  drifting,  and  got  it  out  of  one  clump  of  thick  weeds, 
the  honours  of  the  day  were  with  the  fish.  Once  I  seemed  to  have 
it  at  my  mercy;  a  good  male  fish,  somewhere  about  fifteen  p)ounds: 
it  was  easily  within  range  of  the  gaff,  but  that  instrument  had  got 
tangled  up  in  the  cocoa-nut  matting  at  the  bottom  of  the  punt,  and 
by  the  time  I  had  freed  it  the  wicked  teeth  had  done  their  work, 
stout  gimp  had  been  bitten  through,  and  we  were  left  lamenting. 
The  third  gave  a  grand  fight,  and  had  the  pike  rushed  for  the  reeds 
at  the  beginning  instead  of  dashing  about  in  the  open  water  it  might 
have  been  the  conqueror,  for  I  was  trying  an  eight-ounce  one- 
handed  spinning  rod  of  two  joints  spliced  and  not  ferruled,  and 
when  it  did  make  a  rush  it  gave  a  permanent  curvature  of  the  spine 
to  the  weapon,  and  nearly  broke  it ;  but  part  of  the  fish's  strength 
had  gone,  and  as  we  rowed  parallel  with  the  reeds,  and  I  pulled  at 
the  captive's  head  sideways,  it  came  round  in  a  circle  when  less 
than  a  yard  from  safety,  and  a  few  minutes  later,  after  being  dis- 
lodged from  two  clumps  of  weed,  it  lay  still,  holding  on  to  the  third 
clump,  thinking  itself  secure,  and  I  lifted  it  in  with  the  gaff,  its 
mouth  full  of  the  green  stuff.  The  pike  weighed  fourteen  pounds, 
was  thirty-eight  inches  long,  and  no  doubt  would  have  been  two  or 
three  pounds  heavier  by  Christmas,  for  it  was  decidedly  thin. 

Of  the  rudd  and  roach  fishing  I  have  little  to  say.  Perhaps  I 
fished  badly  for  them ;  anyhow  I  caught  none  of  any  size,  though 
the  other  boat  took  several  big  rudd,  taken  right  on  the  bottom 
after  heavy  ground-baiting.  Certainly  the  "red  eyes"  puzzled  me, 
for  sometimes  when  bait-fishing  with  two  hooks  in  seven  feet  of 
water  I  caught  rudd  and  roach  at  one  haul,  but  the  roach  generally 
took  the  upper  hook,  and  their  cousins  the  lower,  and  upon  examin- 
ing a  number  of  them  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  mouths  of  the  one 
had  less  of  an  upward  turn  and  the  other  less  of  a  downward  droop 
than  elsewhere.  Moreover,  the  shape  of  the  roach  was  more  like 
that  of  dace ;  indeed,  a  great  many  were  quite  as  slim  as  the  fish 
which  so  closely  resembles  the  chub  that  ignorant  fishermen 
have  often  had  great  disappointments  through  thinking  that  a 
**  loggerhead  ''  was  a  monster  "  dace."  There  were  quite  a  number 
of  small  hybrids  between  rudd  and  bream;  and  on  the  northern 
shore  of  the  lake,  where  a  good  many  of  the  perch  lacked  their 
transverse  bars,  a  considerable  portion  of  the  rudd  had  pale  eyes 

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AUTUMN    FISHING    ON    OUR    LAKE  211 

almost   colourless  fins,  and  greenish  bodies,  yet  seemed  in  perfect 
health  and  good  condition. 

Fortunately   the  contemplative   angler  often    has   some   com- 
pensation   when    the   fish    are    unkindly.      Our   lake,    which   with 
extravagant  modesty  calls  itself  a  pond,  is  remarkably  rich  in  birds. 
Swans  constitute  the  most  notable  feature :  I  have  seen  as  many  as 
forty-two  huddled  together  in  the    lee  caused  by  a  bank  of  reeds 
when  a  gale  was  blowing  that  had  driven  up  the  shore  swans  for 
shelter.     Only  three  seemed  to  live  on  the  ponds,  two  cock  birds 
and  a  hen,  and  I  think  that  they  were  unwillingly  tied  there  by  love 
and  the  inability  of  three  cygnets  to  fly.     For  one  of  the  gentlemen 
was  constantly  making  advances  to  the  lady,  which  her  husband 

resented,  and  a  ludicrous  little  drama  was  acted  frequently.  The 
husband  from  time  to  time  would  swell  himself  out  and  double  him- 
self up  till  he  looked  like  some  absurd  heraldic  bird,  and  pursue  the 
intruder,  forcing  himself  along  the  water  with  clumsy  rushes,  much 
impeded  by  the  resistance  which  his  quaint  shape  offered ;  and  the 
other  paddled  calmly  away,  easily  keeping  ahead.  After  a  while 
the  furious  spouse  used  to  make  cumbersome  preparations  for  flying 
after  the  enemy,  and  give  due  notice  of  his  intention;  so  with  much 
labour  and  great  noise  the  two  managed  to  get  off  the  water  and  fly 
a  couple  of  hundred  yards,  and  then  they  settled  down  as  if  nothing 
were  the  matter.  A  little  later  this  comedy  or  farce  would  be 
repeated  da  capo,  and  so  on  twenty  times  a  day. 

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Professional  instinct  induced  me  to  criticise  the  performance: 
I  have  an  uncharitable  suspicion  that  the  husband  never  meant  to 
overtake  the  other  bird,  and  even  the  idea  that  the  whole  affair  was 
callously  arranged  between  the  gentlemen  in  order  that  the  husband 
might  win  the  admiration  of  his  lady  for  his  valour,  and  that  the 
vain  lover  received  some  bribe  in  the  shape  of  tit-bits  of  weed  or 
animalcules  from  them.  Most  of  the  swans  lived  on  the  sea-shore, 
though  some  came  from  a  lake  inland ;  and  a  fine  sight  it  was  to  see 
them  swimming  calmly  in  the  little  lagoons  among  the  ^een 
mudbanks,  finer  still  when  they  came  flying  to  the  lake.  For  a 
long  time  before  they  arrived  you  could  hear  the  singing  of  their 
wings ;  then  a  body  of  twenty  or  so  would  appear  over  the  top  of 
the  trees  with  outstretched  necks  and  tucked-up  feet,  flying  swiftly 
till  they  came  over  the  water;  then,  after  making  a  great  curve, 
dropping  to  the  surface,  and  as  they  descended  bringing  their  l^s 
forward  to  break  the  fall,  and  coming  down  with  a  crash  and  a 
splash  which  sounded  like  the  rattle  of  rifles  at  a  distance.  What 
silly  noises  they  make  when  gossiping  about  the  weather  and  other 
subjects  that  interest  them !  The  idea  of  the  music  of  the  swan 
song  was  a  very  daring  invention. 

Ducks  we  have  in  thousands ;  so  far  as  they  are  concerned  the 
west  end  is  fashionable,  perhaps  because  it  is  shallow,  or  rather 
shallower  than  the  rest,  for  the  lake  is  deep  throughout.  At  the 
east,  however,  I  always  startled  three  at  one  place  when  spinning — 
two  drakes  and  a  duck — and  have  a  horrid  thought  that  there  was 
some  kind  of  menage  a  trots.  The  widgeon  never  seemed  to  light  on 
the  water,  but  used  to  come  in  great  clouds  from  the  sea  and  fly 
over  inland.  The  coots,  of  course,  played  the  part  of  low  comedians 
of  the  lake,  and  whenever  any  particularly  ridiculous  noise  was 
heard  George  would  say,  "That's  a  coot."  They  kept  well 
amongst  the  reeds ;  we  saw  few,  but,  alas !  heard  many,  and  the 
moorhens  running  about  on  the  shore  were  more  numerous.  Once 
a  squirrel  and  a  moorhen  almost  came  into  collision  on  the  bank ; 
I  do  not  know  which  was  the  more  frightened  or  disappeared  the 
faster.  A  woodpecker  used  to  tell  us  the  time  pretty  accurately  by 
its  flight  across  the  pond,  uttering  ugly  squaks  which  suggested  a 
motor-car  horn  suffering  from  a  bad  cold.  Once  the  squaks  became 
squeals  and  screams,  for  at  the  corner  of  the  wood  a  hawk  swooped 
down  and  struck,  and  George,  who  has  the  blue  eyes  and  keen 
vision  of  the  Queen's  Cup  winner,  saw  feathers  fly.  Back  came  the 
woodpecker,  pursued  in  a  leisurely  fashion  by  the  hawk,  which 
apparently  expected  to  see  it  fall  dead,  and  both  disappeared.  A 
minute  later  the  hawk  returned,  chivvied  and  harassed  by  little  birds 
— finches  they  were,  so  George  said — and  water-wagtails,  and  as 

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AUTUMN    FISHING    ON    OUR    LAKE  213 

they  came  closer  I  was  able  to  see  the  long  tails  that  the  pretty 
birds  waggle  so  pertly  on  the  shore.     He  told  me  that  they  were 
called  **  Morley  dish-washers"  by  the  villagers,  but  who,  what,  or 
where  Morley  was  he  did  not  know. 

Perhaps  the  greatest  joy  was  in  the  kingfisher.  The  colouring 
may  be  a  trifle  crude,  mid- Victorian,  and  the  song  shrill,  but  the 
flash  of  flying  jewellery  made  a  pretty  sight.  Once  we  saw  one 
hovering ;  it  remained  still  in  the  air  for  half  a  minute,  then  dropped 
with  undescribable  suddenness  and  a  big  splash,  reappearing  a  little 
later  with  a  small  fish  in  its  beak,  and  flew  into  the  woods.  The 
herons  were  not  my  competitors  on  the  pond,  probably  because  it 
was  too  deep  for  their  style  of  fishing,  except  at  the  edges,  and  these 
were  covered  with  weed  ;  but  they  used  to  fly  about  lazily,  high  up, 
and  then  settle  on  the  very  top  of  the  highest  trees,  where  they 
looked  very  funny,  reminding  me  a  little  of  the  last  scene  in  **  Peter 
Pan,"  and  of  some  old  German  child's  picture-book  of  grotesque 
storks  on  conventional  tree-tops.  Very  few  gulls  visited  us,  probably 
because  the  wind  was  rarely  from  the  sea ;  but  once  when  it  came 
up  for  an  hour  from  the  south  a  number  flew  up  and  settled  amongst 
the  swans,  which  seemed  rather  to  resent  their  society,  and  huddled 

Swallows  and  martins  were  not  numerous,  nor  did  the  starlings 
favour  us  much.  Although  the  fields  round  about  were  rich  in 
hen  pheasants,  I  only  saw  one  come  over  the  lake,  but  their  gaudy 
males  used  to  fly  over  at  their  bedtime  and  disappear  amongst 
the  trees,  uttering,  before  they  roosted,  their  clattering  curfew 
note,  for  which  the  poachers  thank  them.  We  rarely  saw  any 
rabbits,  except  when  Master  Bluey,  a  small  long-haired  dog  be- 
longing to  the  house,  was  having  a  little  sport  on  his  own  account, 
and  drove  them  in  vain  pursuit  out  of  the  bushes  near  the  trees. 
Perhaps  he  would  have  caught  some  if  he  had  not  been  assisted  by 
my  own  little  cockney  mongrel  (called  Mopsemann,  on  account  of 
his  unacquaintance  with  Ibsen),  whose  London  methods  of  rabbit- 
coursing  were  peculiarly  ineff'ective.  Of  music  from  the  birds  of 
course  we  had  very  little.  Occasionally  the  blackbirds  sang  for  a 
minute,  and  the  thrushes  in  the  distance  uttered  a  few  notes ;  but  in 
the  main  we  had  to  rely  upon  the  robin  redbreasts,  which  are  very 
numerous,  and  gave  pretty  performances ;  even  the  crows  cawed 
rarely,  and  the  rooks  were  almost  silent.  Still,  we  heard  the  lowing 
of  the  cattle  and  sometimes  the  hoot  of  the  owl  as  we  used  to  walk 
home  with  lighter  burdens  than  we  had  hoped  for,  and  scare  the 
timid  bats  that  were  fluttering  in  the  hedges.  So  after  all,  though 
the  fishing  was  far  below  the  standard  of  the  lake  and  the  wind 
often  was  very  cold  and  the  rain  sometimes  exceedingly  busy,  the 

Digitized  by 



angler — poor  butt  of  innumerable  jokes,  or  rather  of  two  or  three 
jests  repeated  with  appalling  frequency — has  had  his  pleasures,  and 
is  thankful  for  being  a  pure  cockney,  of  the  imported  species,  so 
that  the  common  sights  and  sounds  of  the  country  were  deeply 
interesting  to  him.  The  sentiment,  I  fear,  is  but  a  paraphrase  of  a 
passage  from  the  famous  **  Of  fifyshing  with  an  Angle,"  attributed 
to  Dame  Juliana  Berners,  a  passage  used  without  acknowledg- 
ment by  Burton  in  the  only  book  that  ever  caused  Dr.  Johnson  to 
get  out  of  bed  two  hours  sooner  than  he  wished  to  rise: — **And 
yet  atte  the  leaste  he  hath  his  holsom  walke  and  mery  at  his  ease. 
A  swete  ayre  of  the  swete  savoure  of  the  meede  flures  :  that  makyth 
hym  hungry.  He  heareth  the  melodyous  armony  of  fowles.  He 
seeth  the  yonge  swannes :  heerons  :  duckes :  cotes  and  many  other 
fowles  nyght  theyr  brodes :  whyche  me  semyth  better  than  alle  the 
noyse  of  houndys  :  the  blastes  of  hornys  and  the  scrye  of  foulis  that 
hunters :  fawkeners  and  fowlers  can  make.  And  yf  the  angler  take 
fysshe  surely  thenne  is  there  noo  man  merier  than  he  is  in  his 

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BY    **  PORTLAND  " 

Bridge  is  a  game  in  which  a  strict  observance  of  etiquette  is 
absolutely  essential,  if  it  is  to  be  played  at  all  fairly.  Its  unwritten 
laws  are,  in  fact,  of  even  more  importance  than  the  actual  rules, 
because  unless  they  are  rigidly  conformed  to  it  is  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world  for  one  side  to  take  all  sorts  of  improper  advantages 
of  the  other.  It  is  of  the  essence  of  the  game,  for  instance,  that 
the  dealer  and  his  partner  should  be  entirely  in  the  dark  as  to  the 
contents  of  each  other's  hands  when  declaring  trumps.  Now,  if  the 
former  hesitates  a  long  time  before  passing  the  call,  or  the  latter 
shows  any  eagerness  to  have  it  left  to  him — as  by  suddenly  brighten- 
ing up,  and  asking  who  dealt,  whether  it  is  not  his  turn  to 
declare,  etc. — it  is  obvious  that  these  conditions  do  not  prevail. 
Similarly,  each  non-dealer  is  supposed  to  know  nothing  of  his 
partner's  cards  except  for  such  inferences  as  can  be  drawn  from 
those  he  has  already  played,  not  from  his  manner  of  playing  them. 
But  how  often  does  it  not  happen  that  a  little  artless  (or  artful) 
hesitation  about  putting  down  a  card  betrays  the  presence  of  another 
in  the  player's  hand  ?  How  many  Bridge- players  are  there  not 
vvho  scarcely  ever  pass  a  trick  without  plainly  showing  that  they 
could  take  it  if  they  chose  ?  All  these  are  serious  breaches  of  the 
etiquette  of  the  game,  and  every  fair-minded  man  should  do  his 
utmost  to  avoid  committing  them. 

NO.  cxxvii.    VOL.  xxii.— February  1906  P 

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In  making  trumps  the  dealer  should  endeavour  to  take  a  uniform 
length  of  time  before  he  announces  his  decision,  whether  his  hand 
presents  any  difficulty  or  not.  If  he  is  going  to  pass  he  ought  not 
to  do  so  at  once,  or  his  partner  will  guess  that  he  has  very  little 
strength,  and  even  if  he  should  hold  the  four  aces  it  is  not  necessary 
to  snap  out  '*  No  trumps  '*  directly  he  catches  sight  of  them.  When 
playing  with  a  partner  who  can  be  trusted  not  to  make  the  declara- 
tion out  of  turn — which  in  the  latter  case  would,  of  course,  be  a 
dire  misfortune — it  is  better  to  allow  a  decent  interval  to  elapse 
before  making  the  call,  whatever  it  may  be ;  for  that  is  the  only 
way  in  which  one  can  avoid  giving  any  indication  to  friend 
or  foe. 

If  the  dealer  finds  that  he  has  dwelt  too  long  upon  the  declara- 
tion— which  is  sometimes  unavoidable — he  must  make  the  best 
declaration  he  can,  whether  it  is  a  sound  call  on  the  hand  or  not. 
If  he  leaves  it  after  betraying  any  hesitation  his  partner  must  be 
careful  to  take  no  advantage  of  this  indication  of  strength,  and  to 
avoid  all  semblance  of  doing  so,  for  should  he  declare  "  no  trumps  " 
or  hearts  on  a  hand  which  admits  of  any  doubt  he  will  at  once  incur 
the  imputation  of  unfairness.  As  a  matter  of  fact  many  j>eople 
make  a  point  of  declaring  spades  in  these  circumstances,  no  matter 
what  the  contents  of  their  hands  may  be ;  but  it  is  hardly  necessarj' 
to  go  so  far  as  that.  An  attacking  call  ought  not,  however,  to  be 
made  if  there  has  been  any  hesitation  about  passing,  unless  it  is 
obviously  the  right  thing  to  do,  and  equally  obvious  that  the 
caller's  judgment  cannot  have  been  affected  by  his  partner's 

As  bad  as,  or  worse  than,  dwelling  on  the  declaration  is  dwell- 
ing on  the  double,  for  that  gives  your  partner  a  complete  key  to 
your  hand,  which  it  is  almost  impossible  for  him  to  ignore.  It  is 
no  doubt  his  duty  to  play  exactly  as  he  would  have  done  if  no 
indication  had  been  given,  but  that  is  not  such  an  easy  matter.  He 
would  not,  of  course,  lead  a  strengthening  heart  at  no-trumps  if 
you  were  known  to  be  a  heart  conventionist,  but  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  the  mischief  does  not  stop  with  the  initial  lead.  Know- 
ing that  you  guard  a  particulair  suit  may  help  him  tremendously, 
and  in  all  probability  he  will  find  it  very  difficult  to  dismiss  this 
fact  from  his  mind. 

One  should,  if  possible,  determine  what  calls  one  will  double  an<J 
what  calls  one  will  not  double  before  the  declaration  is  made,  and 
if  in  any  doubt  when  the  eldest  hand  asks  if  he  may  play  it  is  best 
to  answer  promptly,  **Yes."  He  ought  not  to  ask  the  question 
until  he  sees  that  you  have  sorted  your  cards  and  looked  through 
your  hand. 

Digitized  by 


BRIDGE  217 

To  avoid   hesitating  during  the  play  of  a  hand,  which  always 

gives  information  away,  the  Bridge-player  should  look  ahead  and 

prepare  himself  for  every  contingency  that  is  likely  to  arise.     Thus  if 

the  eldest  hand  holds  king  and  others  in  a  suit  and  sees  the  ace, 

queen  upon  the  table,  he  should  make  up  his  mind  at  once  whether 

he  should  cover  the  knave  or  10  if  it  is  led  through  him.     The  third 

player,  too,  should  experience  no  difficulty  in  deciding  what  finesses 

he  will  take  if  any  of  the  suits  in  which  dummy  holds  a  high  card  or 

cards  are  led  up  to  him.     If  he  does  this  he  need  not,  when  the  time 

comes,  make  it  palpable  that  he  is  finessing. 

Another  kind  of  hesitation  is  the  hesitation  which  we  have 
occasionally  seen  displayed  intentionally  with  the  object  of  mislead- 
ing the  dealer.  This  does  not  amount  to  actual  cheating,  but  it 
nevertheless  introduces  an  element  of  bluff  into  the  game  which  is 
anything  but  desirable,  and  which  the  majority  of  Bridge-players 
unite  in  condemning. 

Another,  and  very  important,  part  of  the  etiquette  of  Bridge  is 
that  which  governs,  or  ought  to  govern,  one's  relations  with  one's 
partner.  Whether  your  partner's  play  is  satisfactory  or  not  you 
have  no  right  to  criticise  it.  He  does  not  join  in  the  game  with  a 
view  to  gaining  instruction,  but  amusement,  and  if  he  plays  badly 
it  will  not  help  your  cause  to  tell  him  so.  It  is  utterly  useless,  so 
far  as  your  interests  are  concerned,  to  point  out  what  he  ought  to 
have  done  in  a  situation  which  is  very  unlikely  to  repeat  itself  before 
your  partnership  comes  to  an  end,  and  it  will  not  make  him  play 
any  better  to  know  that  you  are  dissatisfied. 

Still  more  foolish  is  it  to  find  fault  with  your  partner's  declar- 
ations, because  these  are  matters  on  which  opinions  are  bound  to 
differ,  and  your  judgment  is  only  too  likely  to  have  been  affected  by 
the  result.  You  seldom  hear  anyone  complain  of  a  declaration 
which  has  won  him  the  game.  And  the  player  who  takes  his  partner 
to  task  for  his  declarations  should  remember  that  mere  dogmatic 
assertion  does  not  make  a  proposition  true.  You  often  hear  the 
dealer  say  reprovingly  to  dummy,  "  That  was  not  a  heart  hand, 
partner ! "  Remarks  of  this  kind  generally  strike  the  writer  as 
absurd.  In  the  first  place,  they  imply  a  degree  of  superior  knowledge 
which  is  not  always  justified  by  the  relative  skill  of  the  players ;  and 
secondly,  it  is  quite  possible  that  the  hand  may  not  have  been  a 
heart  hand,  when  considered  from  an  abstract  point  of  view  and 
judged  upon  its  intrinsic  merits,  and  yet  hearts  may  have  been  the 
proper  declaration  at  the  score.  Dummy  is  so  often  in  the  position 
of  having  to  choose  between  two  declarations,  each  of  which  is 
palpably  unsafe,  that  it  is  unfair  to  rate  him  if  he  does  not  always 
hit  upon  the  lesser  evil. 

Digitized  by 





A  and  B  are  partners  against  Y  and  Z.     Score  :  A  and  B,  28  ;  Y  and  Z,  love. 
Z  deals  and  declares  no-trumps.     Y^s  and  Z*s  hands  are  as  follows  : — 

Y*s  hand  (dummy). 

Hearts  864 

Diamonds  A  J  10  8  7 

Clubs  6543 

Spades  Q 

Z*s  hand  (dealer). 

Hearts AQ3 

Diamonds       Q  6  5 

Clubs K  Q  2 

Spades A  K  5  4 

Trick  1. 

Ac?      (V) 

s?   s? 

s ^ 

9      "^7 
9     9 

Tricks :  A  B,  o  ;  Y  Z,  i. 

Trick  2. 



♦   ♦ 



Tricks :  A  B,  o ;  Y  Z,  2 

Trick  3. 


Tricks  :  A  B,  o ;  Y  Z,  3. 

Trick  4. 


♦    ♦ 

0    o 
O     0 


Tricks :  A  B,  i  ;  Y  Z,  3. 

Trick  5. 


9     9, 

9     9 

9     9 


Tricks :  A  B,  i  ;  Y  Z,  4. 

Trick  6. 


9     9 

9     9 

9     9 



Tricks :  A  B,  i  ;   Y  Z,  5. 

Trick  7. 

4.   4. 

1^    ♦!  !F^"^ 

,♦  --^1 

♦  ^* 

i  B 


Tricks  :  A  B,  i  ;  Y  Z,  6. 

Trick  8. 


o   o 

0     Oi 


Tricks :  A  B,  i  ;  Y  Z  7 

Trick  9. 


o   o 


Tricks:  A  B,  i;  Y  Z,  8. 

Digitized  by 


Trick  io. 


Trick  12. 

B     'a| 

z  z 

Tricks  :  A  B,  1  ;  Y  Z,  9.        Tricks :  A  B,  2  ;  Y  Z,  9.         Tricks  ;  A  B,  3  ;  Y  Z,  9. 

Trick  13. 

Tricks  ;  A  B,  4  ;  Y  Z,  9. 

Thus  Y  Z  win  three  by  cards,  and  the  game. 

Remarks  : — 

Tricks  2  and  3. — If  all  five  diamonds  are  to  his  right — as  they  happen  to 
be — Z  can  only  win  three  tricks  in  the  suit.  Directly  B  gets  in 
he  will  clear  hearts,  and  if  A  held  five  originally,  with  the  ace  of 
clubs  for  entry,  he  will  save  the  game  if  Z  loses  the  lead  a  second 
time  before  it  is  won.  Consequently  Z  must  either  draw  the  ace 
of  clubs,  or  win  a  trick  in  the  suit,  before  opening  diamonds,  and 
at  the  same  time  he  should  get  rid  of  dummy's  blocking  card  in 
spades.  He  does  not  run  any  risk  of  losing  the  game  by  the  club 
ead,  because  if  either  adversary  holds  five  the  other  only  holds 
one,  and  they  cannot,  however  they  play,  win  four  tricks  in  the 
suit  Z  makes  a  certainty  of  winning  the  game  against  any  possible 
distribution  of  the  cards. 

Digitized  by 





Creatures  of  the  Night.  A  Book  of  Wild  Life  in  Western 
Britain.  By  Alfred  W.  Rees.  Illustrated.  London : 
John  Murray.     1905. 

Ianto  the  Fisherman,  and  Other  Sketches  of  Country  Life. 
Same  Author  and  Publisher. 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  a  more  sympathetic  student  of  animal 
life  than  Mr.  Alfred  Rees,  whose  work,  contributed  to  various 
periodicals  and  altogether  worthy  of  reissue  in  permanent  form,  is 
here  brought  together.  The  creatures  of  the  night,  whose  lives  he 
draws  in  vivid  detail,  have  no  secrets  from  him  ;  he  seems  to  know 
them  as  they  know  each  other,  and  his  knowledge  may  be  described 
as  lovingly  imparted.  The  otter  cub  whom  he  calls  Lutra  has 
several  sketches  to  himself,  and  appears  incidentally  in  others  with 
Brighteye,  the  water  vole,  his  cousin  Kweek,  the  field  vole — one  of 
the  best  pictures  is  of  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  weasel  to  terrify 
the  little  things  and  their  tiny  family — Vulp,  the  fox,  Puss,  the 
hare,  and  Brock,  the  badger.  As  we  lately  observed  in  reviewing 
Mr.  J.  G.  Millais's  remarkable  volumes  on  Mammals,  the  otter  and 
the  badger  are  peculiarly  interesting  animals  for  the  reason  that 
comparatively  so  few  people  know  anything  about  either;  but 
Mr.  Rees  knows  much,  practically  all  that  can  be  known,  we  are 
inclined  to  think,  by  a  human  friend — for  it  is  in  the  spirit  of  friend- 
ship that  he  writes,  and  we  are  almost  surprised  to  find  him 
describing  himself  as  **  returning  homeward  after  a  day  among  the 
grouse."  He  is,  however,  something  of  a  sportsman,  with  the  vein  of 
sympathy  to  which  reference  has  been  made  always  prominent,  as 
indeed  it  invariably  is  in  those  who  do  credit  to  the  term. 

The  Master  of  Beagles  will  doubt  whether  Mr.  Rees  has  the 
proper  appreciation  of  sport,  nevertheless,  when  he  reads  the  account 
of  what  happened  once  when  in  pursuit  of  Puss.  He  and  his  com- 
panion, Ivor,  heard  the  hunt  approach,  and  crouching  in  the  bracken 
which  grew  along  the  ditch  by  the  side  of  the  lane,  waited  till  the 
hare  came  shambling,  as  it  chanced,  straight  towards  them.  Ivor 
grabbed  her  by  the  hind  legs,  placed  the  other  hand  over  her  mouth, 
and,  springing  up,  hid  behind  a  neighbouring  bank.  The  pack 
came  on  and  went  by ;  then,  after  dipping  the  hare  in  a  stream  which 
ran  at  hand,  he  let  her  go.     "  A  wretched-scenting  day ;  scent  very 

Digitized  by 


BOOKS    ON    SPORT  221 

bad,"  was  the  criticism  of  some  of  the  field  when  they  afterwards 
met.  Another  sketch  of  a  hunt  is  with  bassets,  of  whom  it  is  said 
that  *'  of  all  the  hounds  employed  in  the  chase  of  the  hare,  the  basset 
promises  to  become  the  prime  favourite  among  some  true-hearted 
sportsmen  who  love  sport  for  its  own  sake  and  not  from  a  desire  to 
kill,  Mirthfulness  and  dignity  seem  to  seek  expression  in  every 
movement  of  the  quaint,  old-fashioned  little  hound  and  in  every 
line  of  his  face.  As  for  his  music — who  would  expect  such  a  deep, 
bell-like  note  from  this  queer  midget,  standing  not  much  higher  than 
the  second  button  of  the  huntsman's  leggings  ?  '' 

Those  who  desire  to  learn  the  ways  and  habits  of  the  denizens 
of  field,  wood,  and  stream  could  not  find  a  more  admirable  guide 
than  Mr.  Rees. 

Peterkins.  The  Story  of  a  Dog.  Translated  from  the  German  of 
Ossip  Schubin  by  Mrs.  John  Lane.  With  numerous  drawings 
by  CoUington  Taylor.  London :  John  Lane,  The  Bodley 
Head.  1906. 
Mrs.  Lane  has  done  well  to  introduce  Peterkins  to  English 
readers  ;  for,  as  she  says, "We owe  to  his  genial  creator,  Ossip  Schu- 
bin, a  new  and  delightful  friendship,  even  if  it  is  only  a  little  dog's." 
The  German  author's  reputation  as  a  novelist  is  well  known  to  many 
English  readers,  and  to  more  Americans,  for  her  books  are  widely 
popular  across  the  Atlantic.  This  history  is  a  new  departure  for 
her,  but  it  is  written  with  an  affectionate  regard  for  the  subject 
which  cannot  fail  to  be  shared  by  her  readers.  Poor  little  Peter- 
kins had  very  varied  experiences — slight  as  is  Mrs.  Taylor's  sketch 
of  him  at  the  beginning  of  the  book,  one  can  realise  that  he  is 
**  wondering  why  no  one  loves  him,"  as  he  is  said  to  be.  Soon, 
however,  someone  does,  a  dear  little  girl  called  Betty,  whose  com- 
panionship he  mightily  enjoyed.  He  has  other  friends,  too,  to- 
gether with  some  unappreciative  enemies  whom  the  reader  will 
hate,  and  it  is  by  means  of  one  of  these  that  he  falls  into  the  posses- 
sion of  a  travelling  acrobat  who  wants  a  performing  dog.  With 
this  man  and  his  associates  he  has  a  cruel  time  till  he  runs  away. 
How  he  finds  his  beloved  Betty  and  saves  her  life  is  set  forth  in 
quite  an  exciting  chapter ;  and  then,  of  course,  he  is  made  the  pet 
of  the  castle  where  Betty  lives,  and  has  the  best  of  good  times  ever 
after.     Peterkins  is  entirely  delightful. 

A  Shooting  Catechism.     By  Col.  R.  F.  Meysey-Thompson.  1 

London  :  Edward  Arnold.     1905.  I 
Is  there  "  a  vacant  place  in  sporting  literature  "  ?    We  are  not  by 

any   means  sure,  but  Col.  Meysey-Thompson  thinks  that  there  is,  ^ 


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and  that  he  may  have  filled  it.  In  lately  noticing  his  "Fishing 
Catechism  "  we  expressed  a  certain  amount  of  wonder  why  he  had 
chosen  the  form  of  question  and  answer.  Izaak  Walton  did  it,  but 
then  he  was — Izaak  Walton.  When  lesser  men  attempt  the  same 
thing  the  result  is  different.  There  is  almost  necessarily  a  lack  of 
ease  and  flow,  of  literary  style ;  and  then  again,  while  many  pertinent 
queries  are  omitted,  some  of  the  replies  leave  lingering  doubt. 
"  What  is  the  most  comfortable  costume  for  the  moors  or  for 
partridge-shooting  ? "  the  author  makes  his  unknown  interrogator 
inquire.  "  Of  what  kind  of  leather  should  the  garters  be  ?  "  "  Are 
boots  or  shoes  the  most  comfortable  ?  "  Well !  these  are  all  little 
matters  which  men  decide  for  themselves.  Some  like  knickerbockers ; 
others  abhor  them,  and  always  wear  breeches.  "  Is  there  any 
particular  kind  of  overcoat  that  is  better  than  another  ?  "  Here 
again  who  can  lay  down  a  general  law?  Similarly  the  novice  is 
supposed  to  seek  information  about  shooting  seats,  cartridge  bags, 
etc.  Col.  Meysey-Thompson  speaks  from  experience  ;  but  his  ways 
may  not  always  be  the  best. 

In  one  thing  we  cordially  agree  with  the  author.  If  a  man  be 
asked  to  shoot  he  should  accept  or  refuse  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment.  To  delay  is  unfair  to  the  host,  who  cannot  arrange  his 
party,  and  may  destroy  a  pleasant  week  for  somebody  else  who  would 
be  asked  if  the  guest  first  invited  said  that  he  could  not  go.  The 
writer's  style  is  not  all  that  it  might  be,  and  sometimes  he  is 
puzzling.  "  Are  the  different  hawks  very  prejudicial  ?  "  he  makes 
his  novice  ask,  and  we  really  do  not  understand  what  he  means  ? 
At  times  the  author  abandons  his  catechism  and  writes  straight- 
forwardly, the  consequence  being  no  little  relief  to  the  reader.  Col. 
Meysey-Thompson,  however,  is  a  sportsman  of  wide  experience,  and 
what  he  has  to  say  is  always  worth  consideration. 

The  Why  and  Wherefore  of  Bridge.      By  G.  T.  Atchison  and 
A.  J.  G.  Lindsell.     London:  Longmans,  Green  &  Co.     1906. 

The  authors  think  it  safe  to  assert  that  "  never  in  the  annals  of 
card-playing  has  any  game  attained  such  a  speedy  and  widespread 
popularity  as  Bridge,"  and  they  are  probably  correct,  even  if  the 
game  be  not  quite  of  the  overwhelming  importance  they  imagine.  The 
literature  of  Bridge  is  certainly  something  stupendous,  and  a  good 
excuse  is  necessary  for  adding  a  volume  to  it ;  but  this  the  authors 
have.  Most  writers,  they  point  out,  have  their  own  pet  theories,  and 
naturally  wish  to  enforce  them  on  their  readers.  Messrs.  Atchison  and 
Lindsell  have  endeavoured  to  collate  these  dicta,  and  while  indicat- 
ing their  own  preferences—  not  to  do  so  is  well-nigh  impossible — to 

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BOOKS    ON    SPORT  223 

state  fairly  the  case  for  other  views,  leaving  the  final  decision  to  the 

Their  interpretation  of  the  unwritten  laws  of  the  game  is  some- 
what severe.  **  To  declare  or  to  pass  at  first  sight  is  a  distinct 
intimation  to  your  partner  that  your  hand  is  either  obviously  strong 
or  weak  ;  while  to  hesitate  and  show  perplexity  is  tantamount  to 
telHng  your  partner  that  you  hold  cards  upon  which  you  are  nearly, 
but  not  quite,  strong  enough  to  declare."  You  must  therefore  be 
neither  too  abrupt  nor  too  tardy ;  but  that  is  a  counsel  of  perfec- 
tion, for  some  men  are  impulsive,  others  constitutionally  slow  and 
undecided.  **Above  all.  Do  not  hesitate  about  doubling,''  is  their 
charge,  printed  in  italics.  **  Unless  you  finally  do  so  it  is  grossly 
unfair  to  give  the  slightest  indication  of  such  an  intention."  Certain 
players  will  always  be  grossly  unfair,  it  is  to  be  apprehended,  though 
without  meaning  it,  for  the  reason  stated  :  they  are  slow  in  making 
up  their  minds.  On  one  point,  however,  we  are  glad  to  see  a 
criticism,  and  that  is  condemnation  of  the  exasperating  habit  some 
people  have  of  playing  a  winning  card  **with  a  bang  by  way  of 
emphasising  its  calibre."  For  the  rest,  it  must  suffice  to  say  that 
the  writers  carry  out  the  scheme  they  have  laid  down  for  themselves 
with  lucidity,  and  Bridge-players  will  find  much  to  interest  them. 

Beauty  of  Figure  :  How  to  Acquire  and  Retain  it  by  Means  of 
Easy  and  Practical  Home  Exercises.  By  Deborah  Primrose. 
Illustrated.     London :  William  Heinemann.     igo6. 

These  are  the  days  of  physical  culture,  and  Miss  Primrose's 
contribution  is  entirely  to  the  purpose.  Her  little  preliminary  essay 
goes  back  to  before  the  Stone  Age,  she  touches  on  Egypt  7,000  years 
ago,  and  glances  at  classic  Greece,  but  speedily  becomes  practical, 
and  in  no  fewer  than  seventy-two  figures — photographs  of  girls  and 
children — shows  how  her  ideal  may  be  reached,  or  at  any  rate 
approached.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  a  careful  observance  and 
practice  of  Miss  Primrose's  rules  will  vastly  benefit  the  health  and 
general  well-being  of  those  who  follow  her  instructions. 

My  System  :  Fifteen  Minutes'  Work  a  Day  for  Health's  Sake.  By 
J.  P.  Miiller.  With  forty-four  illustrations  from  photographs. 
London  :  The  Anglo-Danish  Publishing  Company. 

This  is  a  book  on  the  lines  of  the  foregoing,  the  translation 
being  made  from  the  fifth  edition,  the  thirtieth  thousand,  of  the 
Danish   original.     Of  the  cheap  edition  21,200  copies  are  printed, 

figures  which  show  beyond  question  the  popularity  and  value  of  the 


NO.  cxxvii.    VOL  xxii.^ February  1906  Q 

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In  sending:  a  youth  to  college  the  great  question,  of  course,  is, 
To  what  will  it  lead  ?  In  the  case  of  the  Kensington  College,  the 
London  Chamber  of  Commerce  Examination  Centre,  it  leads  to  an 
appointment  as  soon  as  the  student  is  qualified.  The  institution 
was  established  in  1887  for  the  sons  and  daughters  of  gentlemen, 
they  are  trained  for  various  secretarial  duties,  one  or  two  foreign 
languages  being  specially  recommended  as  part  of  the  guaranteed 
appointment  course,  and  taught  on  a  system  devised  by  the 
Principal.     The  College  is  situated  at  143  and  145,  Queen's  Road, 

Bayswater,  where  all  particulars  may  be  learned  from  the  Secretary. 

*  *  *  *  * 

A  really  good  hunting  scene  is  one  of  the  rarest  of  pictures. 
Why  it  should  be  so  it  is  difficult  to  say,  for  incidents  of  all  kinds  in 
connection  with  the  chase  seem  to  lend  themselves  to  illustration. 
Few  artists,  however,  can  draw  horses  at  all,  fewer  still  can  effec- 
tively portray  them  in  action,  and  there  are  some  painters  who  can 
do  justice  to  the  horse,  but  appear  unable  to  put  the  man  or  woman 
correctly  on  the  creature's  back.  Among  the  few  who  do  succeed 
Mr.  George  Wright  stands  high,  and  we  are  indebted  to  Messrs. 
E.  W.  Savory,  Ltd.,  of  Bristol,  for  permission  to  publish  the  spirited 
drawing  which  does  duty  this  month  on  the  cover  of  the  magazine. 
Messrs.  Savory  have  in  their  collection  so  many  admirable  pictures 
that  it  was  a  difficult  task  to  choose;  but  *' The  Draw"  is  a  good  speci- 
men of  Mr.  George  Wright's  excellent  work. 

♦  *  *  *  ♦ 

The  extraordmary  interest  taken  in  the  collecting  of  stamps  is 
shown  by  the  issue  of  the  sixth  edition  of  the  **  Universal  Standard 
Catalogue  of  Postage  Stamps,'*  compiled  by  Messrs.  Whitfield,  King 
and  Co.,  of  Ipswich.  This  is  now  quite  a  thick  volume,  and  is 
rendered  of  particular  value  by  the  3,000  illustrations  of  stamps, 
printed  by  special  permission  of  the  Board  of  Inlnnd  Revenue.  The 
total  number  of  stamps  issued  to  date,  as  included  in  the  catalogue, 
it  is  interesting  to  note,  is  19,778,  of  which  6,059  ^^e  apportioned  to 
the  British  Empire,  and  only  a  little  more  than  twice  as  many, 
13,719,  to  the  rest  of  the  world. 

The  Editor  is  much  gratified  to  announce  that  in  the 
March  number  of  The  BADMINTON  MAGAZINE 
there  will  appear  a  story  by 

whose  wonderfully  vivid  study  of  wild  life  in  the  far  north 
of  Canada,  given  in  his  novel 

J\iles  of  the  Gree^t  Heart* 
has  secured  such  brilliant  and  deserved  success  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic.     The  story  is  entitled 

THE    LIGHT    OF    A    MATCH. 

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The  Proprietors  of  the  Badminton  Magazine  offer  a  prize  or  prizes 
to  the  value  of  Ten  Guineas  each  month  for  the  best  original  photo- 
graph or  photographs  sent  in  representing  any  sporting  subject. 
Competitors  may  also  send  any  photographs  they  have  by  them  on 
two  conditions :  that  they  have  been  taken  by  the  sender,  and  that 
they  have  never  been  previously  published.  A  few  lines  explaining 
when  and  where  the  photographs  were  taken  should  accompany 
each  subject.  Residents  in  the  country  who  have  access  to  shooting- 
parties,  or  who  chance  to  be  in  the  neighbourhood  when  hounds  are 
running,  will  doubtless  find  interesting  subjects ;  these  will  also  ht 
provided  at  football  or  cricket  matches,  and  wherever  golf,  cycling, 
fishing,  skating,  polo,  or  athletics  are  practised.  Racing  and  steeple- 
chasing,  including  Hunt  Meetings  and  Point-to-point  contests, 
should  also  supply  excellent  material.  Photographs  of  Public  School 
interest  will  be  specially  welcome.  j 

The  size  of  the  prints,  the  number  of  subjects  sent,  the  date  of  , 

sending,  the  method  of  toning,  printing,  and  mounting,  are  all 
matters  left  entirely  to  the  competitors. 

The    Proprietors   are    unable   to   return    any   rejected    matter 
except  under  special  circumstances,  and   they  reserve  the  right  of  ( 

using  anything  of  interest  that  may  be  sent  in,  even  if  it  should  not 
receive  a  prize.  They  also  reserve  to  themselves  the  copyright  in 
all  photographs  which  shall  receive  a  prize,  and  it  is  understood  that  « 

all  photographs  sent  are  offered  on  this  condition.  . 

The  result  of  the  February  competition  will  be  annoimced  in  the 
April  issue.  ] 


The  Prize  in  the  December  competition  has  been  divided  among  j 

the  following  competitors: — Mr.  K.  E.  Maclean,  Labuan,  B.N. 
Borneo;  Mr.  Arnold  Keyzer,  Capetown;  Lt. -Col.  Crawford  McFall,  | 

Brownestown    House,    Kilkenny;     Mr.    Shirley   Stewart,   Toronto,  ^ 

Canada:   Mr    C.  B.  H.   Mansfield,  Lieutenant  8th  Cavalry,  Indian  j 

Army,  Nowshera;  Mr.  J.  T.  Spittle,  Pembroke  College,  Cambrid^^e;  | 

Mr.  Stanley  SeA^ell,  Hexham-on-Tyne ;   Mr.  Charles  J.  Hankin.son,  | 

Bournemouth ;  Mr.  R.  W.  Cole,  The  College  of  Agriculture, 
Downton,  Salisbury;  and  Mr.  A.  Abrahams,  Emmanuel  College, 

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Photograph  by  Mr.   IV.  J.  Abrey,  Tonbridge 

FINISH     OF     THE     KERBAN    RACE     AT     THE     LABDAN     NEW     YEAR     SPORTS,     I905 

Photograph  by  Mr.  K.  E.  Maclean,  Labuan,  B.N.  Borneo 

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Photograph  by  Mr.  Arnold  Keyzer,  Capetown 


Photograph  by  Lt.-Col.  Crawford  McFall,   Brownestown  House,  Kilkenny 

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Photograph  by  Miss  G.  Murray,  Holmains,  Cheltenham 


Photograph  taken  in   Western  Ontario  hy  Mr.  Shirley  Stewart,  Toronto,  Canada 

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Phntnutath  by  Mr.  Shirley  Stewart,  Toronto,  Canada 

READY     TO    GO 

Photograph  by  Mr.  F.  H,  Ilutton,  Lincoln 

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PJwtosraph  by  Mr.  C.  B.  II.  Mansfichi,  Lieutenant  Sth  Cavalry,  Indian  Army,  Sowshera 

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Photoiifath  bv  Mr    H.   F.  Sen  ell.   Mount   I'Uasunt,  Hexhamon-Tyne 


Photograph  by  Mr.   IT.  0.  E.  Muuie-King,  Maidenhead 

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freshmen's    sports    at    CAVIhRID(iE— the    mUNDKKO    YARDS 

Photograph  by  Mr.  J.  T.  Sfittle,  Pembroke  College,  Camhrif^e 

LADIES     CURLlN(i    RINK,    ST.    MORllZ — AN    hXClTING    MOMENT 

t'ht'to^raph  by  Mrs.  Aubrey  Le  Blond,  Taynton,  Gloucester 

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Photograph  by  Miss  Dean,   Yarmouth,  Isle  of   IVif^ht 


Photograph  by  Mr.  Arnold  Keyzer,  Cape  to  un 

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Photograph  by  Mr.  Stanley  Scwfll,  Hexham-on-Tyme 


f'hotograph  hy  Mr.  Charles  J.  Hankinson.  Hournemouth 

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Photograph  by  Mr.  R.   W.  Cole,  The  College  of  Agriculture,  Downton,  Salisbury 


Photograph  by  Mr.  A.  R.  MacGregor,  Anerley 

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Photograph  by  Mr.  Thos.  E.  Grant,  Leytonstone 


Photograph  by  Mr.  A.  Abrahams,  Emmamul  College,  Cambridge 

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The     Badminton    Magazine 


BY   ALFRED    E.    T.    WATSON 

Of  late  years  no  one  has  done  more  to  uphold  the  reputation  of  the 
gentleman-rider,  as  representing  each  half  of  that  compound  word, 
than  Mr.  Gwyn  Saunders-Davies.  To  compliment  a  gentleman  on 
his  integrity  is  practically  an  insult,  and  nothing  need  therefore  be 
said  of  the  manner  in  which  Mr.  Saunders-Davies  has  conducted  his 
Turf  lifie ;  whilst  as  to  his  capacity  in  the  saddle,  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  any  horseman,  amateur  or  professional,  has  ever  equalled 
his  recoird  of  races  ridden  and  won  under  National  Hunt  Rules.  In 
all,  from  1882  when  he  began,  till  1903  when  he  abandoned  the 
saddle,  he  had  taken  part  in  1,068  events,  and  had  carried  off  332 
of  thenn  ;  but  this  is  looking  at  the  wrong  end  of  Gwyn  Davies's 
career,  and  we  must  begin  at  the  beginning. 

Descended  from  an  old  Welsh  family,  the  subject  of  this  sketch 
was  born  in  1865,  and  at  the  age  of  nine  went  to  the  well-known 
school  near  Slough,  kept  by  the  father  of  Charles  Hawtrey,  the 
popular  comedian  and  best  of  good  fellows.  I  am  inclined  to  fancy 
that  it  was  rather  out  of  doors  than  in  the  schoolroom  that  the 
youthful  Gwyn  chiefly  distinguished  himself.  Among  his  ambitions, 
NO.  cxxviii.    VOL   XXII.    March  1906  ^ 

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to  be  Senior  Wrangler  can  never  have  been  included,  though  he  has 
always  had  a  head  for  figures.  If  he  gained  many  prizes  they  are 
not  obtrusively  conspicuous  on  the  shelves  of  his  bookcase  at  Myrtle 
Grove,  but  two  years  after  bis  entrance  he  was  captain  of  cricket. 
In  1878  he  went  to  Winchester,  and  played  in  the  school  eleven  in 
1881  and  1882,  with  such  good  men  as  J.  W.  Mansfield,  Ruggles 
Brise,  A.  R.  Cobb,  and  G.  W.  Ricketts.  ] 

The  Army  was  the  career  that  Tiad  been  mapped  out  for  him, 
and  as  French  was  one  of  the  subjects  he  had  to  take  up,  he  was 
put  in  charge  of  a  tutor  at  Dinard,  where,  however,  after  being  in 
training  for  six  months  and  starting  for  the  event,  he  could  not 
quite  draw  the  weight  in  the  preliminary  examination  in  that 
language,  and  what  he  should  do  next  became  a  question.  It  was 
in  this  same  year,  1882,  that  Gwyn  Davies  first  rode  between  the 
flags.  The  race  was  the  Lawrenny  Hunt  Cup,  at  a  meeting  origi- 
nated and  supported  entirely  by  Mr.  Lort  Phillips.  This  Lawrenny 
Hunt  Cup  was  the  race  of  the  day.  Entries  were  made  by  invi- 
tation ;  that  is  to  say,  only  those  invited  to  enter  could  compete, 
so  that  none  but  personal  friends  of  Mr.  Lort  Phillips  were  among 
the  starters,  and  the  horses  were  chiefly  ridden  by  their  owners.  The 
course  was  a  very  stiff  one,  a  deep  and  formidable  natural  brook 
being  one  of  the  obstacles,  and  into  this  two  of  the  riders  disap- 
peared. One  head  presently  emerged  from  the  surface  of  the  water, 
and  as  its  owner  was  crawling  to  land  he  heard  a  cry  from  behind 
him  of  **  Halloa,  Bertie  !"  Turning  round,  he  saw  the  other  victim 
of  a  bad  mistake  scrambling  ashore.  **  Halloa,  Marteine  !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, and  they  both  roared  with  laughter,  each  at  the  ridiculous 
plight  of  his  half-drowned  friend,  than  which  nothing  could  have 
looked  more  comic  in  the  estimation  of  either. 

Mr.  Lort  Phillips  won  his  own  race  himself.  His  young  friend 
was  making  the  running,  and  as  they  galloped  along  the  cheery 
host  called  out  encouragingly,  "  Go  it,  Gwyn  !  "  It  was  merely 
a  friendly  cheer,  but  Gwyn  fancied  it  meant  that  he  was  not  going 
fast  enough,  put  on  more  steam,  and,  going  in  fact  too  fast,  rode  his 
horse  down,  finishing  only  a  bad  fourth.  The  first  race  he  won  was 
at  the  Tivyside  Hunt  during  the  next  season,  three  miles  over 
banks,  on  Colonel  Howell's  Jane  Shore. 

The  Army  idea  was  not  given  up,  however,  and  in  1883  the 
possible  future  field -marshal  went  to  gain  further  instruction  from 
Mr.  Faithful,  a  tutor  at  Storrington,  who  was  deservedly  in  great 
vogue;  and  by  his  assistance  his  pupil's  preliminary  was  successfully 

In  January  1884  the  Saunders-Davies  family  chanced  to  be 
staying    at   Tenby    during    the  race  week,  and  Gwyn  had  a  ride 

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R    2 

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or  two.  A  redoubtable  opponent  in  one  race  was  that  present  ener- 
getic member  of  the  National  Hunt  Committee,  Captain  "  Wenty  " 
Hope-Johnstone,  who,  however,  had  the  bad  luck  to  come  down 
heavily  and  break  his  collar-bone.  He  had  a  horse  called  Master 
Ronald  in  a  race  next  day,  and  to  the  great  delight  of  Gwyn  Davies, 
who  cordially  appreciated  the  compliment  from  such  a  source,  asked 
him  to  ride  it.  He  donned  the  black,  cherry  cap,  as  proud  as  a 
couple  of  kings.  Amongst  other  things  a  beginner  has  to  learn  in 
race  riding,  however,  is  that  if  he  chooses  to  come  up  on  the  inside 
he  must  do  so  at  his  own  risk.  The  young  amateur  made  such  an 
attempt,  not  realising  that  Joe  Rudd,  who  was  in  those  days  a  famous 
jockey,  was  not  very  likely  to  be  obliging  enough  to  pull  out  for  him, 
and  the  consequence  was  that  Gwyn  Davies  found  himself  flying 
over  the  wing  of  a  fence,  that  "wing  "  being  a  full-grown  and  formid- 
able Welsh  bank.  No  particular  damage  was  done,  his  pride  as 
aforesaid  being  chiefly  injured,  because  he  realised  that  he  had 
dorie  a  stupid  thing;  and  be  was  equally  surprised  and 
delighted  therefore  when  Captain  Hope-Johnstone,  running  up  to 
see  if  he  was  hurt,  and  finding  that  no  damage  Was  done,  with 
characteristic  kindness  asked  Gwyn  if  he  would  ride  a  mare 
called  Constance  in  the  next  race.  How  he  jumped  at  the 
chance  need  not  be  said.  While  the  owner  was  giving  him  a  leg  up 
he  quietly  observed  :  "  Look  here,  you'd  better  jump  every  fence  in 
the  middle;  don't  bother  about  the  inside,"  and  carrying  out  these 
instructions,  Constance  was  enabled  to  win  in  a  canter.  There  was 
a  Consolation  Stakes  to  wind  up  with,  and  just  as  Master  Ronald 
was  being  led  off"  home  it  occurred  to  Captain  Hope-Johnstone  that 
he  might  as  well  have  a  go  for  this  prize,  as  the  horse  was  none  the 
worse  for  his  tumble.  Gwyn  Davies  rode  him,  and  won  easily;  and 
that  afternoon  practically  decided  his  future.  '  Praise  from  Captain 
Hope-Johnstone  was  praise  indeed,  and  he  said  such  nice  things  to  his 
successful  jockey  that  Gwyn  Davies  began  to  hesitate  about  joining 
a  service  the  duties  of  which  would  be  likely  to  interfere  with  his 
passion  for  the  saddle — though  twenty  years  ago  leave,  was  much 
more  easily  obtained  by  soldiers  who  wanted  to  go  'chasing  than  it 
is  in  these  stricter  days,  which  goes  far  to  account  for  the  lack  of 
gentlemen-riders  in  the  service. 

It  happened  about  this  time  that  a  friend  of  the  family  was  a 
lady  whose  son  was  making  a  lot  of  money  in  America,  and  Mrs. 
Saunders- Davies  saw  no  reason  why  her  son  should  not  go  and  do 
likewise  if  he  were  not  keen  about  a  military  career.  The  choice 
was  between  America  and  a  return  to  Storrington,  and  in  June  1884 
he  sailed  for  South  America,  to  discover  that  money  might  be  lost 
as  well  as  made  in  that  part  of  the  world.     Two  years  and  a  half 

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found  him  plus  a  great  deil  of  experience,  minus  the  capital  with 
which  he  had  started ;  so  he  returned  home  and  sought  occupation 
in  training  and  riding  steeplechase  horses,  chiefly  for  one  of  his 
brothers.  Of  the  animals  which  he  had  to  take  care  of,  a  mare  called 
Fairj- Queen,  a  grey  daughter  of  Happy  Land  and  Ethelreda,  proved 
about  the  best,  and  was  more  than  useful  in  her  own  class.  This 
was  not  the  highest,  as  owner  and  trainer  discovered  when  after  a 
series  of  successes  at  small  meetings  she  was  occasionally  produced 
at  Sando^vn  or  Kempton.  She  won  little  races  at  country  meetings 
with  such  ease  that  it  struck  them  she  must  be  capable  of  holding 
her  own  in  higher  company,  but  at  the  Parks  better  animals  ran 
away  from  her.  The  mare  won  no  fewer  than  forty-two  races,  in 
forty-one  of  which  her  trainer  rode  her ;  on  the  other  occasion  he 


missed  his  train,  and  a  substitute  had  to  be  found  at  the  last  minute; 
that  is  to  say,  the  boy  who  "  did  "  her  at  home  was  put  up. 

By  this  time  Mr.  Saunders-Davies's  reputation  had  grown  so 
high  that  he  was  naturally  ambitious  of  finding  an  extended  scope 
for  his  work,  and  in  1896  he  left  Wales  to  train  privately  for  his 
friend  Mr.  Reid  Walker  in  Staffordshire.  That  engagement  lasted 
only  a  year,  however,  and  he  then  started  as  a  public  trainer  at 
Clewe  Hill  near  Cheltenham.  Another  friend.  Sir  Peter  Walker, 
was  one  of  his  supporters ;  Missionary  was  among  the  animals  sent, 
and  on  this  useful  son  of  Timothy  and  Sahara  Mr.  Saunders-Davies 
took  several  races,  in  one  of  them  beating  Hidden  Mystery,  who  was 
prominent  among  t  e  best  steeplechase  horses  of  modern  times. 
Missionary  had  only  2  lb.  the  best  of  the  weights,  and  won  by  three 

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lengths.  He  was  a  desperately  hard  puller,  and  one  day  a  friend  of 
Sir  Peter's  and  of  the  trainer's,  having  remarked  that  he  "could 
hold  a  bull,"  was  asked  if  he  would  care  to  ride  a  gallop  on  Mis- 
sionary. Nothing,  he  said,  would  delight  him  more;  that  was  just 
precisely  the  sort  of  horse  he  loved  to  ride  ;  and  as  for  pulling — ^they 
would  see !  What  they  saw  within  a  few  minutes  of  the  powerful 
horseman  being  put  up  into  the  saddle  was  Missionary  disappearing 
over  the  horizon,  and  Sir  Peter,  in  Derbyshire,  received  a  wire, 
simply  containing  the  words :  "  Missionary  last  seen  going  north. 
Has  he  passed  Osmaston  yet  ?  "     It  is  a  long  way  from  Clewe  Hill 

THE     FIRST     LESSON     AT    THE    GATE 

to  Osmaston  Manor,  but  the  horse  looked  as  if  he  was  going  to  get 

In  1899  it  happened  that  a  connection  of  mine,  a  young  cavalry 
officer,  Captain  H.  A.  Johnstone,  determined  to  buy  some  horses, 
and  asked  me  to  manage  them.  The  jumpers  I  consequently 
begged  Mr.  Saunders-Davies  to  train.  He  wanted  horses  badly, 
having  many  empty  boxes.  It  is  difficult,  indeed,  to  find  a  trainer 
who  does  not  want  horses;  there  is  always  room  for  just  a  few 
more  than  he  has,  or  if  there  is  not  room  he  can  make  it ;  but 
Mr.  Saunders-Davies  did  a  very  characteristic  thing.  Interview- 
ing the  owner,  he  said  that  it  would  certainly  give  him  particular 
pleasure  to  receive  any  horses  he  might  like  to  send,  but  at  the  same 

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time  he  felt  bound  to  tell  him,  as  he  was  young  at  the  game,  that 

if   he  were   starting  with  any  idea  that  money  was  to   be  made, 

whether  he  proposed  to  bet  or  not,  it  would  be  judicious  to  abandon 

the  project ;    with  fair  luck,  he  might  make  both  ends  meet ;  on 

the   other    hand   it   was   extremely   probable   that    he    would   find 

the  sport   expensive.     The  result,  however,  was  that  Cushendun, 

whom  I  had  bought  from  my  friend  the  late  Colonel  McCalmont  for 

400  guineas,  and  some  others,  went  to  Clewe  Hill,  including  a  horse 

called  Monti,  own  brother  to  Timon,  who  ran  remarkably  well  in 

Manifesto's  National,  but  turned  out  worthless.     Cushendun,  a  son 

of  Colonel  McCalmont's  Ascot  Cup  winner  Timothy,  had  a  string 

halt ;  some  of  the  experts  declared  he  was  lame  as  he  was  led  out  at 


Tattersairs,  his  hocks  were  criticised  as  weak,  and  indeed  few 
people  except  myself  liked  him  ;  but  he  proved  to  be  a  good  horse 
until  a  leg  which  affected  him  early  in  his  career  developed  into 
serious  mischief.  He  was  only  once  beaten  as  a  four-year- old,  and 
that  in  a  race  which  he  ought  to  have  won — unfortunately  Mr.  Davies 
did  not  ride  him  on  this  occasion  ;  and  as  a  five-year-old  one  of  six 
races  in  which  he  was  successful  was  the  Great  Sandown  Steeple- 
chase, which  he  won  by  ten  lengths  with  12  st.  71b.  on  his  back. 
That  he  stood  as  long  as  he  did  is  remarkable  testimony  to  his 
trainer's  skill. 

In  1903,  Cushendun,  probably  because  his  leg  worried  him,  became 
very  intractable,   and  some  time  after  he  had  left   Mr.   Saunders- 

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Davies's  stable  Woodland  the  trainer — a  master  when  dealing 
with  **  difficult "  horses — begged  to  be  allowed  to  take  him  in  hand. 
His  idea  was  to  put  him  in  a  cart,  which  he  thought  would  perhaps 
quiet  him  down.  In  a  cart  he  was  put  accordingly,  and  he  left  the 
yard.  What  happened  afterwards  is  not  precisely  known.  Little 
bits  of  wood  and  iron  were  picked  up  over  a  radius  of  a  mile  or 
two,  but  anything  distantly  resembling  a  cart  was  never  seen  again; 
not  even  identifiable  portions  of  the  vehicle  could  be  collected.  It 
is  thought  that  he  may  have  kicked,  an  accomplishment  in  which 
he  shone,  his  leg  notwithstanding. 

He  stayed,  had  a  very  useful  turn  of  speed,  and  in  1901  his 
trainer  was  quite  sanguine  about  his  chances  for  the  Grand  National, 
in  which  he  had  list.  2  lb.  to  carry.  This  was  the  year  of  the 
blizzard.  Snow  lay  two  or  three  inches  deep  on  the  course,  and 
blew  about  in  dense  whirling  clouds.  Owners,  trainers,  and  jockeys 
petitioned  for  a  postponement  of  the  race,  but  the  stewards  decided 
that  it  must  be  run,  with  the  result  that  of  twenty-four  starters  I 
think  I  am  right  in  saying  that  only  seven  finished.  Cushendun 
slipped  up  on  his  side  in  the  middle  of  a  field  after  going  about 
five  furlongs,  and  the  trainer-jockey  came  back  disconsolate. 

Captain  Johnstone,  like  most  soldiers  who  run  steeplechase 
horses,  was  anxious  to  win  the  Grand  Military  Gold  Cup,  and 
searching  about  for  an  animal  likely  to  accomplish  this  feat,  I  heard 
of  a  'chaser  who  had  had  a  successful  career  in  Ireland,  called  Boreen- 
chreeogue.  Mr.  Saunders-Davies  agreed  with  me  that  this  was  an 
animal  to  be  bought  if  possible,  and  went  over  to  Ireland  to  see  if  it 
could  be  got  for  fifteen  hundred  guineas,  with  a  preference,  however, 
for  not  going  beyond  a  thousand.  I  have  elsewhere  published  the 
story  of  his  expedition,  and  fear  to  repeat  it  in  detail  lest  the  reader 
may  have  come  upon  it  before.  The  owner  of  Boreenchreeogue— I 
shortened  it  to  Boreen — stuck  out  for  his  price,  thrice  Mr.  Saunders- 
Davies  got  into  his  cart  and  drove  to  the  gate,  to  be  beckoned  back 
and  told  that  a  hundred  would  be  knocked  off:  and  ultimately  he 
got  the  horse  for  eleven  hundred  guineas  and  a  contingency  of 
another  five  hundred  if  he  won  the  National  or  the  Manchester 
Steeplechase ;  a  contingency  which  however  had  to  be  squared,  as 
horses  that  go  for  the  Grand  Military  Cup  must  be  free  from  con- 
tingencies of  any  sort.  I  asked  poor  Reggie  Ward  to  ride,  and  we 
all  went  down  to  Cheltenham  one  day  in  order  that  we  might  give 
the  horse  a  school  over  fences  next  morning,  when,  however,  the  fog 
was  so  dense  that  the  idea  of  the  gallop  had  to  be  abandoned. 
Boreen  ran  disappointingly,  only  being  able  to  get  third  to  Lambay 
and  Covert  Hack ;  and  next  day  in  the  United  Service  Steeplechase 
did  worse  still,  for  he  was  unable  to  beat  Scotland  Yard,  a  five-year- 

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old,  to  whom,  however,  he  was  endeavouring  to  concede  2st. 
Mr.  Saunders- Davies  won  the  Newmarket  Spring  Handicap  Steeple- 
chase on  him  after  he  had  made  such  a  mistake  at  the  water  that 
his  recovery  was  little  short  of  a  miracle.  Two  fences  from  home 
he  looked  like  winning  the  Manchester  Steeplechase,  but  over- 
jumped himself;  and  having  strained  the  muscles  of  his  quarters  at 
Liverpool  was  never  of  any  use  subsequently,  though  his  trainer 
again  distinguished  himself  by  getting  him  round,  sufficiently  to 
enable  hinvto  start  more  than  once. 

An  extraordinary  race  won  by  Mr.  Saunders-Davies  was  run  at 

AN    OFF    DAY 

Hereford  in  1891.  He  was  on  his  brother's  horse  Magot,and  at  the 
second  fence  the  animal  blundered,  came  down  on  his  head,  and  got 
the  bit  out  of  his  mouth.  He  was  a  fine  fencer,  and  recovermg  him- 
self— chiefly  of  his  own  accord,  of  course,  his  rider  having  next  to 
no  power  over  him — followed  Mintridge,  ridden  by  Mr.  W.  A.  Villar, 
round  the  course,  jumping  all  the  fences  without  accident.  Nearing 
home  he  got  on  even  terms  with  the  leader  and  actually  won  a  head  ! 
One  of  the  illustrations  represents  a  quaint  incident  which 
would  certainly  not    be   comprehensible  without   explanation.     At 

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Totnes,  in  1897,  Mr.  Saunders-Davies  was  riding  a  horse  called 
Prince  Arthur.  Half  a  mile  from  home  this  most  extraordinar)' 
steeplechase  course  crosses  the  river,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  stream 
the  horse  got  his  foot  in  the  martingale  and  fell,  unfortunately  with 
his  rider  under  him.  Before  the  jockey  was  quite  drowned,  how- 
ever, the  animal  began  to  struggle  violently,  and  his  drenched  pilot 
— pilot  seems  an  appropriate  term  in  this  particular  case— was 
enabled  to  slip  from  under  him.  He  had,  naturally,  lost  his  whip, 
which  he  valued,  as  it  had  been  given  him  by  Mr.  C.  S.  Newton  in 

"CAN     ANYONE    SBB     MV     WHIP?' 

remembrance  of  a  race  won  in  the  brown  and  yellow  hoops.  A 
crowd  of  people  were  on  the  bank,  and  to  them  the  dripping  jockey 
shouted,  **  Can  anyone  see  my  whip  ?  "  One  wag  suggested  that  the 
mouth  of  the  river  should  be  watched ;  however,  whilst  Mr.  Saun- 
ders-Davies hurried  off  to  change  for  and  ride  in  the  next  race  his 
brother  came  down  from  the  stand,  and  got  some  boys  to  paddle 
and  hunt  for  the  lost  trophy.  An  enterprising  snapshooter  took 
the  photograph,  a  reproduction  of  which  appears. 

The  best  horse  Mr.  Saunders-Davies  ever  rode  he  has  no  hesi- 

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tation  in  saying  was  Cloister.    He  was  a  very  hard  puller  and  carried 

his  head  extraordinarily  low,  but  approaching  a  fence  his  rider  would 

see  him  cock  his  ears,  and  knew  that  all  was  well.     Mr.  Saunders- 

Davies  has  also  ridden   Manifesto,  the  other   12  st.   71b.    hero  of 

Liverpool.     This  was  at  Sandown,  a  month  after  the  National,  with 

the  Manchester  race  intervening,  and  the  great  horse  ran  wretchedly. 

On  Cloister   Mr.  Saunders-Davies  won  the  Welsh  Grand  National 

at  Cardiff,  and  horse  and  jockey  being  alike  favourites  the  scene  of 

enthusiasm  was  a  memorable  one.     An  extraordinarily  good  horse 

over  banks  on  which  he  has  won  races  was  Covert  Hack,  though 

the  rider  was  fortunate  in  ever  having  the  mount.     The  day  before 

the  race  in  which  Covert  Hack  was  to  take  part  at  Punchestown 

Mr.  Lushington,  wanting  a  jockey,  asked  Mr.  Saunders-Davies  if 
he  would  ride  an  animal  for  him  whom  he  described  as  a  *' clinking 
jumper,"  suggesting  that  it  would  be  a 'good  thing  to  have  a  ride 
over  the  course  just  to  see  what  it  was  like.  Mr.  Saunders-Davies 
gladly  consented,  got  up,  and  set  off  gaily,  to  be  turned  over  at  the 
very  first  fence,  into  which  the  horse  galloped  without  attempting  to 
rise.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  animal  was  quite  blind,  a  circumstance, 
however,  which  was  not  discovered  till  afterwards ! 

Mr.  Saunders-Davies,  being  a  careful  man,  has  kept  a  record  of 
every  race  in  which  he  has  ridden  under  National  Hunt  Rules.  As 
already  stated  he  has  been  up  in  1,068,  has  won  322  times,  been 
placed    364  times,  unplaced    372,   and   has   had   103  falls.     These 

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figures,  it  will  be  seen,  are  really  something  wonderful.  He  has 
been  in  the  first  three  686  times,  and  only  failed  to  get  a  place  when 
his  horse  has  not  fallen  on  269  occasions. 

From  Cheltenham  Mr.  Saunders-Davies  removed  to  Weyhill,  a 
place  which  seems  especially  lucky,  for  everyone  who  goes  there 
appears  to  start  successfully.  He  did  so,  though  his  luck  was  not 
well  maintained,  and  in  1901  he  removed  to  his  present  establish- 
ment at  Myrtle  Grove,  picturesquely  situated  in  Sussex,  with 
excellent  stables  and  some  of  the  best  gallops  in  the  country. 
Mr.  A.  M.  Singer*s  horses  occupied  most  of  the  boxes  on  his  arrival, 
and  this  gentleman,  determining  to  take  to  breeding  thoroughbred 


stock  there,  made  paddocks  and  erected  buildings  which  seemed 
likely  to  be  one  of  the  joys  of  Mr.  Saunders-Davies's  life;  but  in  a 
few  months  Mr.  Singer  changed  his  mind,  no  doubt  to  the  great 
regret  of  his  friend.  With  flat-race  horses  as  well  as  jumpers  the 
Myrtle  Grove  trainer  has  been  notably  successful.  It  is  easy  to  win 
with  good  animals,  but  he  has  carried  off  a  considerable  number 
of  stakes  with  very  bad  ones,  though  no  specially  notable  prizes 
have  fallen  to  his  charges  except  the  Stewards'  Cup  at  Goodwood, 
which  was  won  in  190 1  by  O 'Donovan  Rossa,  who  was  in  great 
form  about  that  time.  The  wayward  Bridge  was  another  who  was 
often  there  or  thereabouts  in  short  races,  and  Rambling  Katie  left 
Myrtle  Grove  to  win  her  second  Manchester  Cup. 

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I  must  tell  one  little  story  about  Myrtle  Grove  and  its  trainer 

which     struck     me     as     particularly    amusing,    and    appealed    to 

Mr.  Saunders-Davies's  sense  of  humour.      In  all   training   stables 

the  boys  seem  to  find  an  invincible  attraction  to  the  nearest  town 

where  there  is  a  telegraph  office.     They  are  anxious,  indeed,  to  send 

away  such  items  of  information  as  they  think  will  be  of  profit  to 

their  correspondents,  and  though  trainers  are  aware  that  their  lads 

cannot  know  much,  the  head  of  a  stable  prefers  to  have  his  affairs 

discussed   as   little   as   possible.      The    boys   from    Myrtle    Grove 

resembled  their  brethren  at  other  places,  and  one  of  the  excuses  for 

a  journey  to  the  post  office  was  a  wish  to  back  a  horse.     Realising 

this,  Mr.   Saunders-Davies  interviewed  his  head  lad.     If  the  boys 


wanted  to  bet,  he  said,  he  would  turn  bookmaker;  that  is  to  say, 
the  head  lad  might  let  them  know  that  they  could  always  be  on  at 
starting  price,  and  his  master  would  find  (or  receive)  the  money. 
Most  of  their  wages,  it  was  anticipated,  would  be  retained  at  home 
by  their  employer ;  and  this  little  matter  was  arranged  just  before 
the  Goodwood  Meeting  last  year.  Mr.  Saunders-Davies  had  told 
me  about  it,  chuckling  at  the  idea  of  killing  two  birds  with  one 
stone — teaching  the  boys  not  to  bet  and  pocketing  the  price  of  the 
lesson.  They  were  going  to  make  a  little  purse  and  put  it  all  on 
something  for  the  Stewards'  Cup. 

"  What  did  your  boys  pick  for  the  race  ?  "  I  asked  him  after  the 
numbers  had  been  hoisted. 

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**  Xeny,  confound  them  !  "  he  replied. 

Xeny  had  started  at  25  to  i,  and  the  Myrtle  Grove  backers  had 
£6  or  £j  on.  This,  however,  is  an  accident  not  likely  to  happen 
often,  and  if  the  arrangement  continues  it  is  not  difficult  to  guess 
who  will  have  the  best  of  it  in  the  long  run. 

At  present  nearly  a  score  of  owners  have  horses  under  the  care 
of  the  subject  of  this  memoir.  For  one  thing,  they  like  to  be  asso- 
ciated with  a  friend,  and  for  another  they  know  that  their  animals 
could  not  have  a  more  skilful  and  conscientious  guardian.  It  is  a 
very  general  hope  that  some  day  Myrtle  Grove  will  harbour  a  real 
**  smasher  "  who  will  come  out  and  sweep  the  board. 


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Wave  upon  wave  in  the  wind,  undulation  on  undulation,  the  wheat 
fields  rippled  their  wealth.  The  glorious  August  sun  heated  the  air 
with  shimmering  tenseness,  baking  the  short  grass  on  the  wild, 
lands,  but  urging  on  the  feathered  ears  of  grain  to  finer  growth  and 
proportion.  Far  away,  like  shreds  of  veils,  faint  clouds  were  scat- 
tered over  the  horizon,  timidly  reaching  out  overhead  as  though 
afraid  of  the  scorching  rays.  The  light  hot  wind  that  played  along 
was  laden  with  the  smell  of  the  grain,  tainted  with  the  green  reek  of 
the  sloughs. 

On  the  top  of  a  rise  was  a  squatter's  home ;  rough  and  grey  it 
looked  in  the  fierce  sunlight.  A  shed  for  the  horses,  an  apology  for 
a  granary,  a  miserable  coop  for  some  chickens,  completed  the  little 
group  of  buildings.  Hysterically  a  hen  cackled,  announcing  that 
rare  thing  on  the  North- Western  prairie,  a  fresh  egg. 

The  clatter  of  a  stool,  a  rush  of  footsteps,  and  Samuel  King 
tumbled  helter-skelter  from  the  low  fly-beset  doorway. 

"  Marthy !  Marthy !  **  he  shouted,  shrilly,  his  voice  dying  away 
on  the  instant  in  the  burning  atmosphere,  "  Susan's  laid  a  egg  fo' 
sure  this  time !  " 

Still  cackling,  the  speckled  hen  retreated,  he  advancing  eagerly 
to  her  nest  under  the  stable  sill. 

•*  I  got  it,  Marthy,  I  got  it !  " 

Brown,  oblong,  and  warm  it  lay  in  his  rough  palm. 

"  Thank  ye,  Susan."  He  drew  the  sweat  from  his  forehead  with 
a  quick  accustomed  motion.     The  hen  perched  angrily  on  a  plough- 

'  All  English  and  American  rights  reserved. 

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share  and  cackled  on  vociferously.     Then  from  over  in  the  comer  of 
the  yard  a  cock  crowed  its  harsh  tones,  softened  by  the  heat. 

'*  Thankye,  too,  Dick,"  old  Sam  said,  gravely,  and  went  back 
to  the  log  house. 

'*  Thar,  girl  !  a  right  fresh  egg  I  got  fur  ye !  "  He  placed  it 
carefully  on  the  table. 

The  interior  was  small  and  neat ;  a  bed,  a  table,  three  chairs, 
and  a  rusty  stove  were  its  only  furnishings.  Clothes  dangled  here 
and  there  from  wooden  pegs  on  the  wall,  worn  boots  peered  forlornly 
from  beneath  the  attic  ladder — nothing  more.  She  looked  up  at  him, 
eyes  tremulous  and  pleading. 

*'  It's  so  hot,  Sam,'*  she  murmured,  from  her  position  by  the 
crack  of  the  north  door.     **  It's  so  hot !  " 

**  Aye,  girl ;  but  ye  must  eat !  Ye  hain't  ate  nothin'  fur  two 
days  !  " 

She  gave  a  quick,  petulant  motion. 
*'  I  don't  want  anything !  " 

With  a  deep  sigh  the  old  man  sat  down,  while  the  blistering 
heat  grew.  He  looked  fondly  and  with  great  pride  over  the  vast 
acres  that  belonged  to  him  ;  acres  that  were  heavy  in  weight,  golden 
with  dollars — money. 

**  Aye,  money,"  he  whispered  ;  **  money  ter  give  her  everythin* 
she  wants,  money  ter  make  up  ter  her  incause  I'm  old,  money  ter 
make  her  happy  !  An'  it's  all  out  thar,  out  thar ;  growin',  fillin'  ter 
twenty-five  and  thirty  dollars  an  acre ;  an',  by  God,  it's  fur  her !  " 

**  What  are  you  muttering  about,  Sam  ?  "  the  girl  asked,  tossing 

uncomfortably  in  the  tiny  breeze  that  came  from  the  north-west. 

'*  About  you,  girl ;  alius  about  you  ;  I  ain't  got  nawthin'  else !  " 

She   stood  up  wearily,  smoothing  her  rough  blouse  and  skirt, 

throwing  back  the  loose  damp  masses  of  hair  that  clung  about  her 

face.     She  was  beautiful,  but  the  great  hazel  eyes  had  something 

unanswerable  in  them,  something  that  no  man  could  fully  understand, 

**  It's   frightful   hot,  Sam,"    she   said,  moving  to   him.     "  I'm 

choking — here  !  "     She  tore  at  her  throat. 

**  Girl,  girl ;  since  yer  father  gi'en  yer  ter  me  as  wife,  I've  loved 
ye  all  I  knowed  how.  I'm  only  an  old  man,  an'  a  rough  one,  but 
rd — rd — "  he  looked  about  in  desperation — "I'd  give  up  any- 
thin'  ye  asked,  ef  et  wuld  make  ye  happy." 

"Dear old  Sam,"  she  whispered,  "dear  old  Sam.  I  know  ye 
would  give  me  anythin'  I  wanted  !  "  She  turned  from  him  impul- 
sively and  threw  herself  down  by  the  north  door  again. 

He  jumped  to  his  feet,  the  strong  old  figure  alert  and  keen,  his 
eyes  bright,  and  flashing  a  strange  gleam  from  beneath  their  shaggy 

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THE    LIGHT    OF    A    MATCH.  :^3 

**  What  d'ye  want  then  ?     I  giv's  yer  money,  I  giv*s  yer  clones, 
I  giv's  yer  my  old  life,  an'  I  worships  yer,  girl ;  ain't  that  enough  ?  " 
She  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment,  while  the  flies  buzzed 
and  sang,  while  the  heat  grew  in  its  suffocating  strength. 

"  Sammy,"  she  spoke  with  an  effort,  almost  forcing  the  words, 
**  Sammy,  I've  loved  yer  like  a — "  she  hesitated — **  like  a  woman 
should  ;  but  I'm  lonely !  "  '  ■    ■ 

The  old  man  looked  at  her ;  then  turned  away  with  an  ineffable 
sadness  in  his  eyes. 

"  Aye,"  he  muttered,  "  she's  lonely  !  " 

Thus  the  afternoon  passed  in  reeking,  sweltering  hours. 
Slowly  the  broiling  sun  sank  into  a  scarlet  west ;  degree  by  degree 
the  air  cooled  until,  with  the  shadows  of  evening,  the  atmosphere 
was  less  burning  in  its  draught,  less  sweating  in  its  grip. 

"  Girl !  "     He  crawled  beside  her.     "  Girl !  " 

**  Yes,  Sammy."     She  woke  from  a  welcome  doze.     **  What  ?  " 

The  old  man  fought  with  himself  for  an  instant,  then  swallowed 
Mrhat  he  wanted  to  say.     "  Ye  know  I  loves  yer,  don't  ye  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  slowly. 

'*  Ye  know  I'd  sell  my  soul  fur  ye ;  giv'  up  everythin'  fur  ye,  ef 
ye  asked  it  ? 

"  Ye-es,"  more  slowly. 

**  What  is't  then  ye's  wantin'  ?  Tell  me,  girl ;  tell  me,  an'  I'll 
g^iv'  it  ye  ef  I  can  !  I  hain't  got  much,  but  what's  mine's  yours. 
Honey  ;  what  d'ye  want  ?  "  The  old  man's  voice  was  strong  and 
clear ;  cracked  a  little  with  years  perhaps,  but  ringing  true. 

She  lifted  herself  on  one  elbow ;  reached  out  and  stroked  the 
long,  grey  hair  affectionately,  kindly. 

"  Sammy,  I  shouldn't  talk  this  way,  I  shouldn't ;  but  a  woman's 
just  a  woman,  Sammy ;  ye  can't  a  1\^ ays  understand  her  ways,  nor 
see  the  meanin'  of  her  words ;  a  woman's  a  cur'ous  thing,  Sammy  !  " 
She  sank  back  slowly  into  the  little  draught  that  stole  in  under  the 
north  door. 

**  Aye  girl,  but  ye'r  the  only  woman  in  the  world ;  ye'r  honest, 
ye'r  squar'  to  me,  and  I — I,  by  God,"  he  burst  into  deep  sobs  that 
disturbed  the  quiet,  **  I'm  only  a  rough  old  man !  " 

His  sorrow  appealed  to  her.  She  smoothed  his  wet  forehead 
tenderly,  and  caressed  the  worn,  gnarled  hands. 

**  Never  mind,  Sammy,  never  mind ;  women  don't  know  when 
they're  well  off,  they're  fools  sometimes ;  that's  Nature,  Sammy." 

"  Natur' !  What's  Natur'  ?  "  he  said,  standing  up.  '*  I  loves  ye, 
and  ye  know  it ;  but  I'm  old  and  cain't  go  galivantin'  round  ter 
da.nces  and  sich,  incause  all  the  strength  I  got  I  want  ter  use  in 
makin'  money  fur  ye — out  in  the  wheat."    He  waved  his  thin  arms 

wo.  cxxviii.    VOL.  xxn.— March  1906  S 

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towards  the  doorway  through  which  the  stars  now  flickered  and 
gleamed.  *'  That's  the  Natur*  I  knows — the  sun,  rain,  and  frost ; 
thar  ain't  no  other,  Marthy — is  thar  ?  " 

Her  great  hazel-brown  eyes  opened  wide  in  the  semi-gloom. 

"  Poor  old  Sammy,"  she  whispered,  softly,  "poor  old  Sammy ; 
alway$  the  wheat !  *' 

Silently  he  went  out  to  the  stables  and  gravely  milked  their  only 
cow,  the  warm  white  liquid  hissing  metallically  in  the  tin  pail.  The 
odour  of  straw  soothed,  the  smell  of  the  animal  body  before  him 
calmed  his  sorrow. 

**  Sho,  Bess,'* — he  slapped  the  gaunt  beast  playfully — "  ye'r 
gettin'  shy  o'  milk  ;  grass  is  p'utty  stiff,  ain't  it  ?  "  The  cow  looked 
at  him  over  her  shoulder  and  chewed  her  cud  placidly. 

**  That's  the  only  Natur'  I  knows,"  he  muttered,  as  he  went  out 
into  the  hot  night.  **Onct!  " — he  drew  himself  up  proudly  in  his 
old  tattered  overalls,  his  faded  blue  shirt — "Onct,  it  seems  as  though 
I  knowed  somethin'  different,  but  I've  clean  lost  it ! " 

His  eyes  wandered  over  the  dark  landscape.  Grey-black  and 
far  away  the  nearest  rises  in  the  prairie  seemed ;  stifling  the  air 
came  and  went  in  his  lungs ;  eveh  his  long  grey  beard  dripped  with 
the  heat  of  his  body.  The  darkness  was  laden  with  the  invisible 
noises  of  the  night ;  myriads  of  wings  hummed  as  insects  stung  and 
flew  away.  Out  yonder  coyotes  yelped,  their  doleful  voices  rising 
and  falling  as  the  draught  breathed  and  died.  Gophers  whistled 
sharply  at  the  entrances  of  their  holes,  piercing  the  blackness  with 
sounds  that  tingled  the  ear.  And  over  it  all  a  sky  spotted  with 
stars  that  wavered  in  their  gleam  as  he  looked  at  them.  The  old 
man  went  and  lighted  a  candle.  By  its  flickering  yellow  sheen  he 
saw  the  girl  tossing  by  the  north  door.  Hurriedly  he  poured  some 
milk  into  a  cracked  coarse  china  cup. 

"  Here,  Honey,  have  some  o'  this." 

With  half-opened  eyes  she  took  it  and  tasted,  then  flung  it 
from  her. 

**  Sammy !  "  she  coughed ;  **  I  thought  it  was  water." 

He  picked  up  the  broken  bits  one  by  one  and  carefully  threw 
them  out  of  doors. 

**  I'll  get  ye  some  water,"  he  said,  quietly,  and  took  down  a  bright 
bucket  that  shone  faintly  in  the  candle  light. 

She  started  up  quickly. 

**  Never  mind,  Sammy,  it  isn't  worth  four  miles  walk." 

But  he  was  gone,  and  a  breathless  silence  came  on  the  interior, 
broken  only  by  the  buzzing  of  flies  and  flappings  of  moths  towards 
the  candle.  She  settled  back  to  her  old  position,  gasping  for  a  cool 
whiff  of  air. 

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THE    LIGHT    GF    A    MATCH.  255 

A  figure  appeared  in  the  door — tall,  lithe,  and  strong,  with 
steady  blue  eyes  that  had  no  furtive  intention  in  them,  even  in  the 

**  Martha  !  "     The  voice  was  low,  soft.     "  Martha  ?  '* 
The  girl  sat  up.     "  Here,  Fred,"  she  answered,  quietly,, 

With  light  steps  he  reached  her  side,  blowing  out  the  candle  as 
he  passed. 

*'  Martha !  "  he  sought  to  kiss  her. 

"  No,  lad !  *'     She  pushed  him  away  resolutely.     **  It  can't  be." 

**  Why,  why  ?  "  the  man  begged,  his  tones  vibrating  with  his 
great  feelings. 

A  silence  between  the  two — deep  silence.  Then,  "  Because  he 
loves  me,  Fred ;  that's  enough  !  " 

"  But  he  doesn't  love  you — he  can't — as  I  do !  " 

"  Ssssh  !  "  she  warned.  **  Even  if  he  can't  give  me  everything 
in  the  world,  no  one  else  has  the  right  to,  onless  he  says  the  word." 

"  I'll  tell  him,  I'll  show  him  how  he  can't,  and  he'll  under- 

"  No,  Fred,  you  mustn't,  because  he's  honest  in  his  love ; 
are  you  ?  " 

She  turned  on  him  quickly, 

"You  know,"  he  whispered,  pressing  her  hand,  "you  know 
what  I  have  resisted  for  you  !  "  He  stood  up.  *'  I'll  come  to-night 
for  your  answer,  Martha — to-night." 

Silence  again. 

A  sultry  hour  and  another  passed  on,  she  lying  there  battling 
with  herself. 

**  Here's  water,  girl ;  fresh  f  om  th'  river,  but  I'm  afeared  it's  a 
trifle  warm ! " 

She  drank  eagerly  in  great  gulping  swallows  the  tepid  water 
that  was  in  old  Sam's  bucket. 

"  It's  not  bad,  Sammy,"  she  murmured. 

"I'm  glad,  Honey." 

He  sat  on  the  door  sill,  slowly  waving  a  kettle  cover  to-and-fro 
for  a  breeze.  The  night  became  darker  and  more  dark,  closing  in 
over  the  prairies  in  sultry  heaviness. 

"  I  guess  I'll  turn  in,"  he  said  presently,  and  stretched  himself 
in  some  blankets  near  the  empty  stove. 

"  I'll  stay  here  awhile,"  the  girl  said,  and  edged  herself  as  near 
as  possible  to  the  north  sill. 

His  heavy  breathing  was  the  only  sound,  while  she  listened  and 
ivaited.  Hot,  hot  and  more  choking  the  night  was,  threatening  a 
thunderstorm  or  hail. 

Sam  King  breathed  hard  because  of  his  sorrow,  because  of  his 

Digitized  by 



'  helplessness.     And  then  he  slept.     As  though  in  answer  to  his  last 

^  waking  thoughts,  he  heard  a  careful  sound.     He  opened  his  eyes, 

^  and,  silhouetted  against  the  star-speckled  heavens  of  the  door,  saw 

I  two  figures.     Their  outlines  were  sharp  against  the  sky.     He  almost 

cried  out — but  held  his  peace.     No   sound   came  from  these  two 
]  forms  ;  no  whisper  of  their  meaning,  but  he  guessed  who  was  one  of 

[  them.     They  passed  out,  stopped  again,  and  one  lighted  a  match. 

[  No  word  aloud;  only  the  look  in  their  eyes  at  each  other.     The 

match  died  out  instantly.     The  sound  of  careful  feet  coming  in  the 
I  hut,  then  silence. 

Through  the  long  hot  hours  he  tossed  and  turned.  "  She 
keers  fiir  me,  but  she  don't  love  me,"  he  whispered,  great  beads  of 
sweat  on  his  brow.  "And  how  could  she? — fool  that  I've  been; 
I'm  not  suited  for  the  likes  of  her;  'taint  nature,  an'  I  knows  what 
she  meaned  this  arternoon  ;  I  knows  what  she  meaned." 

On  one  side  the  jealousy  of  a  one-time  youth  urged  him  to 
declare  his  knowledge  and  use  his  power  of  right ;  on  the  other  the 
sense  of  justice  to  her  made  him  helpless.  He  thought  a  long  time. 
"  I'll  do  it — fur  her,"  he  whispered  then.  In  a  little  while,  when 
she  was  quiet,  he  stole  out  bareheaded,  in  his  coarsely-stockinged 
feet,  and  walked  slowly  along  the  breast-high  wheat. 
t  **  It  was  all  fur  her,"  he  said  aloud,  mournfully,  letting  the 

nearly  ripe  ears  slide  roughly  through  his  fingers.  Careless  of  his 
steps  he  wandered  here  and  there  through  the  tall  growth.  Stems 
cracked  and  broke,  whole  dozens  of  stalks  were  bent  and  crushed, 
but  he  walked  on.  Then  from  far  in  the  east  crept  the  first  green- 
yellow  tints  of  dawn.  He  stood  still  and  watched  the  colours 
change  and  brighten,  brighten  and  change,  till  the  lower  heavens 
were  aglow,  then  ablaze,  with  the  coming  sun. 

He  leaned  over  impulsively,  and  drew  handfuls  of  the  standing 
grain  to  his  face,  kissing  it,  rubbing  it  between  the  powerful  old 

**  I've  watched  ye  grow,  as  I  hev  her ;  I  tended  ye,  as  I  hev 
her ;  I'd  not  let  one  wind  o'  heaven  hurt  ye,  all  fur  her,  if  I  c'uld 
help  it ;  an'  now  " — he  flung  away  the  crumbled  remains,  his  hands 
stained  green — *'  now  I've  got  ter  giv  up  to  Natur  an'  Life,  as  ye've 
got  to  be  cut  with  th'  reaper !  "  His  head  sank  on  his  chest,  the 
long  beard  flowing  low.  **  What  for  ?  Is  there  a  God  in  heaven  ? 
What  for  ?  "     He  threw  his  arms  towards  the  bright  overhead. 

The  sun  burst  over  the  horizon  in  a  fierce  glare  of  power,  gild- 
ing the  vistas  of  wheat,  empurpling  the  last  clouds  of  night  that 
vanished  beyond  the  west,  glowing  the  air  with  its  might. 

**  Aye,"  he  said,  facing  it,  so  that  the  light  shone  full  on  his 
face,  softening  the  outlines  of  his  figure.     "  Aye,  thar's  the  answer. 

Digitized  by 


THE    LIGHT    OF    A    MATCH.  257 

an'  it's  true — true,  it's  Natur  in  all  her  glory.  What's  laws,  what's 
anythin'  in  life  but  Natur  ?  "  He  went  back,  bathed  in  the  fierce 
rays.     When  nearly  at  the  hut  he  stopped  again. 

The  morning  draught  played  daintily  about  him,  rustling  the 
grasses  at  his  feet,  stirring  his  beard  and  bushy  eyebrows  with  gentle, 
caressing  softness.  As  far  as  his  eyes  could  reach  were  fields — acres 
— miles  upon  miles  of  gorgeous  splendour  of  wealth.  The  ears  of 
wheat  rolled,  rippled,  bowed,  and  rolled  a^in  to  the  south  wind, 
changing  hue  from  brilliant  yellow  to  shadowed  green  at  each  puff. 

"  It's  all  mine — mine,'*  he  said,  dully,  '*  but  what's  the  good  ? 
Money,  aye;  but  money  don't  buy  all  I  wish  I  culd  giv  her,  an' 
money  don't  buy  what  I  want — an'  can't  have.  Thar's  no  room  in 
life  fur  an  old  man  like  me.  I've  done  my  best,  an'  'taint  good 
enough  fur  her ;  I  knows  it,  an'  she's  right,  bless  her,  alius  she's 
right ;  I'm  wrong,  but  I'll  make  it  squar  to  her,  God  helpin'  me." 

She  woke  as  he  entered. 


*'  Aye,  Sammy,"  he  answered,  softly. 

"  Where've  you  been  so  early  ?  " 

"Just  seein'  that  th'  grain's  all  right." 

"  Is  it  ?  " 

"  Fur  ye,  girl,  it's  right  an'  growin',  heapin'  money  with  every 
day's  sun." 

She  winced  in  half  awakedness,  shrinking  from  his  earnest 
tones;  and  now  he  saw  and  was  glad,  for  he  had  decided. 

**  A  bit  o'  bacon  ? — some  gruel  for  breakest,  girl  ?  " 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes ;  they  were  clenched  tight, 
and  he  saw  now  that  he  knew  what  to  look  for.  With  a  strong 
heart  he  pretended  that  he  did  not  see. 

**  Is  it  going  to  be  hot  again,  Sammy  ?  " 

He  went  to  the  door,  standing  in  the  blistering  light. 

"  I'm  afeared  so,  Honey ;  but  yon  sun  " — he  looked  almost 
straight  into  its  white  heat — "gives  us  money,  gives  us" — he 
stumbled  in  search  of  the  word — "  life  !  " 

She  murmured  something,  and   dozed  again  while  he  got  some 


«  «  «  «  » 

The  reaping  was  over.  The  crowd  of  men  had  gone,  and  the 
vast  fields  no  longer  rang  with  the  whirring  of  steel,  the  harsh 
champing  of  toothed  knives,  the  clattering  chatter  of  binders.  The 
year's  work  was  done.  No  hail,  no  frost,  nothing  had  marred  the 
success  of  the  crop,  and  the  old  man  had  a  long  credit  account  at 
the  bank  in  Brandon.  He  and  his  two  men,  load  by  load,  took  the 
grain^to  the  railwayjelevator.-  and  watched  it  disappear  in  the  dust 

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funnels.  Then  it  was  all  gone.  Instead  of  the  wavering  wheat- 
heads  on  stalk  he  had  money — gold,  that  he  could  draw  from  the 
bank,  for  it  was  his. 

As  he  milked  one  night,  he  drew  the  bank-book  from  his  inside 
pocket.     It  was  already  chafed  with  the  continual  carrying. 

**  Six  thousand  dollars,"  he  whispered.  "  Six  thousand  dollars ! 
rU  take  two  hundred  ;  that'll  get  me  far  away  some'ere  an'  leave 
enough  for  her  an' — him  !" 

The  same  familiar  cow  gazed  placidly  at  him,  whisking  her 
rough  tail  with  a  swi-sh — swi-sh — swi-sh  that  betokened  annoyance 
of  the  flies.  The  next  day  he  went,  while  the  girl  was  sewing  at  his 
clothes,  to  the  station. 

**  Gimme  a  ticket  fur  th'  West." 

"  Whereabouts  ?  "  the  agent  asked,  noting  this  face  more  than 
the  others  that  passed  his  little  window. 

"As  far  as  the  line  goes,"  King  answered,  slowly. 

The  sound  of  tearing  paper,  the  dull  clack-click  of  a  hand- 
stamp,  then — 

'*  Here  ye  are ;  all  the  way  through  British  Columbia  to  the 
Pacific,  $60-50 !  " 

The  old  man  paid  his  money  unseeing,  and  turned  away. 

•'  Good  for  ten  days  only,"  the  agent  called  after  him. 

For  nine  of  these  days  he  worked  about  the  house,  cleaning  up, 
straightening  the  farm  implements,  getting  everything  right.  That 
night,  when  the  girl  was  asleep  in  the  cold  of  the  September  frost, 
he  went  out,  and  paced  the  deserted  fields,  his  feet  crunching  softly 
on  the  crust  of  the  new  earth.  Glittering  eerily,  like  distant  winking 
eyes,  the  stars  shone  on  him,  and  he  watched  the  flashing  comets 
trail  their  short  sparkling  course.  The  darkness  was  intensely 
silent ;  not  even  a  breath  of  wind  disturbed  the  absolute  peace. 

'*  I'm  goin'  termorrow,"  he  said  aloud,  "goin'  so's  she  kin  live. 

Girl,  ef  ye  only  knowed  how  I  loves  yer !     Honey "      His  voice 

broke  and  quavered.  **  But  I'm  old,  old,  old — an'  done !  Great 
God," — he  flung  his  arms  wide — "  I  loves  her  with  a  young  heart, 
but  I  cain't  show  it.  I'm  too  fond  o'  makin'  money  on  th'  land ! 
What  I  kin  do  is  to  giv'  her  all  I  hev' — an*  go ;  itn'  I'm  agoin'. 
Fred's  a  good  lad,  clean  an'  honest ;  an'  since  she  loves  him,  since 
that's  Life,  I  kin  only  show  my  love  by  this."  He  drew  in  great 
breaths  of  the  night  chill,  and  it  strengthened  him. 

*  ♦  *  ♦  ♦ 

"  Come  over  to  the  station  this  mornin'.  Honey ;  I  got  business 
thar,"  he  said,  at  breakfast. 

She  wondered  then  why  he  had  on  his  best  clothes,  patched 
and  worn  as  they  were — but  his  best. 

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THE    LIGHT    OF    A    MATCH.  239 

**  Yes,  Sammy,  I'd  like  the  drive,  I  think."  She  kissed  him. 
**  Nothing  wrong?  " 

•*  No,"  he  answered,  steadily,  *'  nuthin' !  " 

By  a  coincidence  (that  she  did  not  know)  Fred  Halson  joined 
them,  riding  his  new  cayuse,  a  pretty  beast,  full  of  life  and  deviltry. 

**  Whar  ye  bound,  Sam  ?  "  he  called  gaily,  looking  at  the  girl. 

**  Over  to  th'  station,  lad ;  come  along." 

Once  there,  he  fastened  the  team  securely  to  a  fence-post. 

"  rU  go  to  the  store,  Sammy,"  she  said ;  **  wait  for  me." 

*•  No,  don't,  girl ;  I  may  want  ye." 

She  was  surprised  ;  but  stayed  willingly. 

*'  Sam,"  Fred  shouted. 


"  If  thar's  anythin'  for  me  on  th'  express,  take  it  home,  will  ye  ? 
I've  got  to  go  'cross  the  road."     He  started  away. 

"  Fred !  " 

The  young  man  stopped  at  the  unusual  command  in  the  voice. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  will  ye  ?  Train  'II  be  here  p'utty  soon,  an'  I 
may  need  ye." 

"  Oh,  all  right,  Sam  ;  sure,  ef  I  kin  be  of  any  use." 

They  walked  up  on  the  long  platform  together.  The  old  man 
contrived  to  leave  the  girl  and  the  other,  while  he  went  along  the 
raised  boards,  his  eyes  focussing  themselves  on  the  long  distance, 
to  a  certain  roll  in  the  cold  prairie  where  he  knew  was  his  home. 
The  skies  were  overcast  and  grey,  chilling  and  repulsive.  No  faint 
gleam  of  sunlight  warmed  his  body,  no  ray  of  happiness  soothed  the 
agony  in  his  heart. 

"  For  th'  last  time  I  look  on  ye,  my  lands — hers  and  his'n 
now.    But  I'm  content,  incause  she'll  be  happy !  " 

To-ot — to-ot  toot — toot.  Far  away  yet,  from  the  east,  but 
plainly  discernible,  came  the  whistling  of  the  ej^press;  and  as  he 
vvatched  towards  the  sound  he  saw  a  thread  of  black  rising  over  the 
prairie ;  furling,  folding,  and  dwindling  away. 

"  She's  comen',"  he  whispered,  and  turned  swiftly  to  the  two 
that  waited  side  by  side. 

'*  Giri !  " 

**  You're  sick,  Sammy,"  she  said,  quickly,  fearfully,  seeing  his 
haggard  face  and  eyes  dulled. 

"  I  wants  ter  speak  ter  ye  a  minute." 

She  walked  with  him,  the  young  man  waiting. 

'*  Thar's  no  use" — he  coughed  a  moment  as  the  rushing  sound 
of  iron  wheels  came  to  them — **  thar's  no  use  in  tryin'  ter  pretend 
a  girl  like  you  can  love  a  rough  old  man  like  me/' 

"  Sammy  I  "  she  gasped,  and  stared  in  bewilderment. 

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"  Thar's  no  good  in  it^  girl ;  here — "  he  pulled  out  his  bank 
book,  and  some  papers — "  here's  your  credit — now  at  th'  bank,  an' 
here's  the  deeds  o'  th'  land !  "  He  forced  them  into  her  hands, 
hurrying  on — **  I'm  goin',  Honey,  goin'  out  of  your  life,  that  I  hain't 
no  right  to  ruin." 

.  She  tried  to  interrupt. 

"You've  been  squar'  to  th'  old  man,  an'  he  kin  appreciate 
THAT  !  "  His  words  were  drowned  by  the  roar  and  rumble  of  the 
long  train  as  it  came  slowly  to  a  standstill  beside  them. 

**  Snmmy  !  "  she  said,  dully,  the  heroic  thing  he  was  doing  for 
her  numbing  her  mind. 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  for  an  instant,  the  whole  of  his  great 
love  twisting  his  face  as  though  in  pain. 

**  And  me,  Sammy  ?  Without  you "  She  stopped,  his  sacrifice 

glaring  into  her  soul.  AH  his  kindness  and  rough  tenderness,  all 
his  little  pathetic  ways,  all  his  honour  and  thoughtfulness,  rushed 
past,  and,  woman -like,  she  weighed  what  she  was  losing,  and  what 
she  might  have  in  the  future — torn  between  the  two.  "  Why, 
Sammy  ?  Why  ?  Poor  old  Sammy  !  "  she  gasped,  seeing  the  clinched 
jaws,  the  muscles  working  spasmodically  in  his  face. 

**  Incause  "— he  spoke  almost  fiercely — **  I  saw  it  all  by  th' 
light  o'  a  match." 

She  was  silent,  knowing  then  that  he  knew.  He  took  her  by 
the  hand,  dragged  her  through  the  crowd  of  tourists,  passengers, 
immigrants,  that  thronged  the  station,  to  where  the  other  stood. 

**  Fred,  lad  ;  ye'r  honest,  an'  ye  loves  Marthy  as  a  man  should, 
don't  ye  ?  " 

The  other  was  amazed,  dumb  almost. 

**  I  do !  "  he  answered,  before  he  had  time  to  think. 

"All  aboard— all  'board!  " 

**  I  trusts  het  to  ye,  lad,  fur  she  loves  ye,  an'  kin  show  it  now, 
incause  I  gives  my  consent,  an'  " — he  coughed  again  harshly — "  my 
blessin'.  Look  arter  her  well,  lad,  as  I  hev' ;  an'  read  this  when 
I'm  gone !  "     He  gave  him  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  sprang  away. 

Slowly  the  great  wheels  revolved  to  the  spurting  chug-chug 
of  the  engine.  White-jacketed  porters  closed  the  vestibules  of  the 
Pullmans.  Gradually,  then  faster  and  faster,  the  long  cars  moved 
away  ;  the  two  gripping  each  other's  hands  convulsively,  tears  stream- 
ing down  her  face.  No  sign  of  old  Sam  King.  The  two  watched  the 
express  fade  away  to  a  blur  in  the  west.     She  turned  on  him  then. 

**  Are  you  a  man  like  him,  Fred  ?  " 

He  looked  into  her  eyes. 

**  He  is  a  man,"  he  whispered.  '*  I  can  only  try  to  love  ye  as 
he  did  ! " 

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THE    LIGHT    OF    A    MATCH. 


**  You'll  have  to  try  hard !  "  she  answered,  softly. 

For  an  instant  then  a  single  ray  of  yellow  sunlight  forced  its 
way  through  the  grey  clouds,  and  hesitated  weakly  on  the  two;  it 
was  pjone. 

"Sammy" — she  waved  her  hand  to  the  westward,  aJong'  the 
unsympathetic  cold  lines  of  steel — "ye  didn't  kiss  me  good-bye," 
and  the  tears  rolled  faster.  , 

"  No,  he  didn't,"  the  man  whispered;  **  but  Til  watch  over  ye  I  j 

I  don't  love  the  grain  most !  **  I 

He  opened  the  paper,  and  his  face  became  soft  with  a  deep  glow 
of  feeling.  l 

•' Read  thet,  dear!"  \ 

She  could  distinguish  the  words  but  slowly  for  her  tears.  | 

"ye  an  fred  kin  marry  in  tou  weks  1*1  be  out  o*  th  wurld  f 

then  ye'l  be  hapy  i  gues  an  ets  ryght  ye  shuld  incaus  ye  an 
him  hev  bin  squar  in  this  thing  i  aint  jelous  i  m  hapy  fur  it 

"  lovinle  *' 

SAM."  |. 

For  a  moment  both  were  silent,  looking  to  the  west. 
*'  He  didn't  love  the  grain  most   after  all,"   Fred  whispered, 

"  I  don't  think  he  did,"  she  answered,  and  turned  away. 

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There  has  been  a  good  deal  of  discussion  during  the  last  fewniontlis 
in  the  sporting  papers  and  magazines  on  foxes  and  fox-hunting.  "  Do 
foxes  run  as  well  as  they  did  formerly?"  and  *' Is  hunting  as  fine 
a  sport  as  it  once  was  ?  "  have  been  the  much  debated  questions. 
This  has  been  a  grand  opportunity  for  the  laudatores  temporis  acti,  and 
they  have  not  missed  it.  They  are  a  hardy  race  who  have  flourished 
exceedingly  from  the  days  of  Horace,  and  probably  for  many  centuries 
before  the  time  of  that  witty  poet  and  man  of  the  world. 

Only  the  other  day  I  picked  up  a  volume  of  the  Sporting 
Magazine  over  a  hundred  years  old,  in  which  one  of  them  sang  a 
truly  mournful  jeremiad  on  the  decadence  of  both  sport  and  the 
English  thoroughbred  horse.  There  is  also  the  other  school  who  hold 
that  there  never  was  such  a  time  as  thq  present,  and  it  is  not  easy 
to  find  the  truth  and  hold  the  balance  evenly  between  the  two. 

I  have  kept  a  hunting  diary  for  twenty-two  years,  which  now 
contains  the  records  of  over  a  thousand  dajs'  sport,  and  it  occurred 
to  me  that  it  might  be  of  interest  to  give  an  account  of  some  of  the 
best  runs  I  have  seen. 

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SOME    GREAT    HUNTS  263 

A  great  many  fox-hunters  keep  no  diary ;  and  as  it  is  a  happy 
trait  in  most  men's  characters  to  remember  the  good  times  that  are 
p>ast,  and  to  forget  the  evil  ones,  I  have  no  doubt  that  many  people 
honestly  think  the  sport  was  better  years  ago,  simply  because  they 
remember  the  fine  runs  they  enjoyed,  and  forget  all  about  the  dis- 
appointing days  they  suffered.  As  far  as  my  own  experience  goes 
the  sport  is  ev^ry  bit  as  good  now  as  ever  it  was,  and  I  think  the 
records  of  last  year,  1905  (I  am  writing  these  notes  in  January),  will 
compare  favourably  with  those  of  any  other  year  in  the  annals  of 
the  hounds  which  I  have  the  good  fortune  to  follow. 

Some  countries  have  been  much  cut  up  by  the  increase  of  rail- 


ways  and  the  growth  of  towns,  but  others  have  been  immensely 
improved  during  the  last  forty  years,  owing  to  the  large  amount  of 
arable  land  which  has  been  turned  down  into  grass  since  the  fall  in 
the  price  of  wheat  made  ploughing  unremunerative. 

Lord  Middleton's  country  in  the  East  Riding  of  Yorkshire  is  a 
fine,  wild,  sporting  district,  sparsely  inhabited,  and  with  few  rail- 
ways, consequently  well  adapted  to  long  straight  hunts;  and  I  think 
his  dog  hounds  were  the  best  I  have  ever  seen  in  sticking  to  a  fox. 
Their  grim  determination  and  perseverance  would  not  be  denied, 
and  the  way  they  broke  up  a  fox  after  they  had  killed  him  was  some- 

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thing  to  remember..  I  hunted  a  good  deal  with  them  about  twelve 
years  ago,  and  came  in  for  some  very  fine  runs. 

21  December  1889. — Hounds  had  just  killed  their  fox  after  a 
good  forty  minutes  in  a  ring  from  Stittenham  Wood,  when  a  fox 
jumped  up  in  the  open  close  to  Foston.  We  got  a  good  start  with 
him  and  pushed  him  at  a  rare  pace  through  Bulmer  Hag  and  into 
Castle  Howard  Park,  right  through  this  huge  park,  across  the  valley 
which  lies  to  the  north  of  it,  over  Connisthorpe  Banks,  down  into  the 
valley  of  the  Rye ;  we  got  a  view  of  him  as  he  crossed  the  Malton 
and  Gilling  Railway,  near  Amotherby  Station,  and  killed  him  half 
a  mile  further  on.  This  was  about  the  straightest-running  fox 
I  have  ever  seen ;  the  point  was  some  nine  miles,  and  he  hardly 
deviated  one  hundred  yards  from  a  straight  line  during  his  whole 
journey ;  the  pace  was  good  throughout,  and  the  time  i  hr.  15  min. 

Seven  years  later,  almost  to  a  day,  on  9  December  1896,  I  saw 
an  even  finer  hunt  in  the  very  same  district.  After  a  wet  and  stormy 
night  the  weather  improved  at  about  10  a.m.  It  was  quite  fine 
when  hounds  were  thrown  into  Foston  Covert,  and  at  the  same  instant 
a  hallo  from  the  first  whip  proclaimed  that  the  good  fox  was  away. 
There  was  a  screaming  scent,  and  hounds  fairly  flew  for  twenty 
minutes  over  a  lovely  line  of  country  till  they  were  brought  up  by 
the  wall  of  Castle  Howard  Park.  The  fox  had  run  along  the  top  of  it, 
and  it  was  some  five  or  six  minutes  before  Grant  hit  off  his  line. 
Hounds  went  on  again  at  a  good  hunting  pace  right  through  the 
park,  past  Hildenly  and  Swinton  Grange,  almost  to  Amotherby 
Station  (our  furthest  point),  then  left-handed  in  a  big  ring  through 
part  of  Castle  Howard  Park  almost  to  Bulmer  village,  where  they 
ran  right  up  to  him  and  killed  him  in  the  open.  Point  eight  miles, 
distance  as  hounds  ran  about  sixteen  miles,  time  i  hr.  50  min. 
The  first  twenty  minutes  was  a  brilliant  gallop,  and  the  rest  of  the 
run  a  very  fine  hunt :  with  the  exception  of  the  time  when  the  fox 
ran  along  the  park  wall  there  was  no  check  worth  mentiojiing. 

I  have  said  what  demons  these  hounds  were  at  breaking  up  a 
fox.  Now  little  Grant  had  a  habit,  when  he  had  killed  his  fox  after 
a  good  hunt,  of  standing  with  his  foot  on  the  dead  fox  while  his 
grand  dog  hounds  bayed  round  him  till  you  could  have  heard  them 
five  miles  off.  On  this  occasion  we  had  a  rare  chorus  for  about  ten 
minutes,  and  when  Grant  picked  the  fox  up  to  throw  it  to  them 
they  made  a  dash  forward,  his  foot  slipped,  and  down  he  went  in 
the  middle  of  them.  I  really  thought  we  should  never  see  any- 
thing more  of  him,  except,  perhaps,  his  cap  and  his  spurs ;  but  he 
managed  to  roll  out  of  the  scrimmage,  and  but  for  being  very  dirty 
was  none  the  worse,  though  it  looked  awkward  for  a  second  or  two. 

Another  capital  hunt  took  place  on  5  February  1890.    Found 

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SOME    GREAT    HUNTS  265 

in  Brockfteld  Covert,  which  is  just  four  miles  from  York.  The  fox 
made  straight  for  the  city,  and  ran  right  into  the  houses  of  Oswald - 
kirk,  a  suburb  of  York,  a  most  peculiar  line  for  him  to  take,  as  there 
is  no  covert  in  that  direction.  He  skirted  round  the  walls  and 
crossed  the  Low  Moor  just  behind  the  cavalry  barracks.  Leaving 
Heslington  on  his  left,  he  ran  the  whole  length  of  the  Tilmire  and  got 
into  the  Wheldrake  Woods. 

In  spite  of  fresh  foxes  being  afoot,  hounds  drove  him  through 
these  large  coverts  into  the  open  again  on  the  far  side,  and  running 
well  for  another  mile  or  so  killed  him  in  the  churchyard  of  Elvington 
village,  which  is  six  miles  from  York.       This  was  another  very 


straight  run,  the  point  being  eight  miles.  Hounds  ran  a  great  pace 
for  the  first  four  miles  over  a  stiff  line  of  country  with  no  gaps,  and 
-when  they  checked  almost  under  the  shadow  of  the  minster  it  was 
surprising  how  few  people  realised  where  they  were. 

The  York  and  Ainsty  joins  Lord  Middleton's  country.  Mr. 
Lycett  Gi^en,  who  is  in  the  twentieth  year  of  his  mastership,  has 
shown  his  followers  some  rare  good  hunts. 

20  December  1897  was  a  memorable  day.  Found  in  Cold- 
stream Whin,  and  ran  very  hard  to  New  Parks,  then  on  through 
Huby  Bum  and  Hawk  Hills,  past  Easingwold  village,  to  Peep-o'-day 

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fox-covert,  where  he  got  to  ground  in  the  main  earth.  Point  eight 
miles,  time  i^  hrs.  Drew  Stillington  Whin  and  found  another  good 
fox,  who  took  us  by  Crayke  village  to  Spillar  Wood  and  on  through 
Dalby  Bush  and  Wiganthorpe  to  the  Hovingham  Woods,  where  the 
fox  again  found  safety  below  ground — very  hard  luck  on  the  hounds, 
but  as  we  were  several  miles  in  Lord  Middleton's  country  the  earths 
were,  of  course,  open.  Point  over  seven  miles.  Hounds  had  run 
well  for  about  i  hr.  20  min,  over  a  rough  and  trying  country 

Another  very  good  hunt  took  place  on  15  January  1898,  from 
Sessay  Wood  by  Thormanby,  Carlton  Husthwaite,  and  Coxwold  to 
Wass  Bank,  where  we  killed  him  on  the  edge  of  the  Hambledon 
grouse  moors,  a  seven-mile  point  over  a  lovely  line  of  country,  about 
twelve  miles  as  hounds  ran ;  time,  i  hr.  10  min. 

Many  a  memorable  hunt  have  the  York  and  Ainsty  had  with 
these  stout  moorland  foxes,  who  come  down  into  the  low  country 
about  the  new  year  seeking  a  mate.  Unless  it  is  a  very  good  scent- 
ing day,  it  is  long  odds  on  them  against  the  hounds,  for  if  once  th^ 
get  among  the  crags  and  rocks  of  the  moors  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  catch  them  before  they  find  some  stronghold  where  they  are 
quite  safe  from  hounds,  terriers,  or  spades.  More  than  once  also 
have  I  reached  the  top  of  these  banks — they  are  so  steep  you 
can  only  get  up  them  here  and  there — to  find  the  moors  covered 
with  snow  and  ice  when  there  had  not  been  a  trace  of  either  in  the 
vale  below. 

The  best  fox  whose  acquaintance  I  have  ever  had  the  luck 
to  make  lived  in  a  little  patch  of  wild  gorse  on  the  banks  of  the 
River  Maigue  in  co.  Limejick.  We  found  him  first  on  the  after- 
noon of  22  January  1894,  and  to  my  dying  day  I  shall  never  forget 
the  glorious  gallop  he  led  us  for  some  nine  miles  over  a  perfect  line 
of  country.  The  going  was  of  the  very  best,  and  the  pace  tremendous. 
Without  a  check,  and  with  only  a  breather  of  two  or  three  minutes 
when  hounds  were  pushing  their  way  through  the  small  gorse 
covert  of  Lisdowan,  he  led  us  on  till  he  found  well-deserved  safety 
in  the  main  earth  of  Garryfine  Covert,  which  he  reached  some  two 
hundred  yards  in  front  of  the  leading  hounds. 

He  was  at  home  again  on  19  February^  and  again  gave  a  great 
run  past  Croom  Gorse  to  Kilmacow  Cross  Roads,  about  seven  miles, 
at  a  capital  pace ;  then  darkness  put  an  end  to  the  hunt.  Once 
more  was  he  found,  early  the  following  season ;  but  he  was  not  so 
highly  tried,  scent  was  only  fair,  and  after  a  good  long  hunt,  in  which 
he  was  always  having  the  best  of  it,  he  beat  hounds  again  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  running  them  out  of  scent.  In  vain  was  he 
sought  again ;  he  had  changed  his  quarters ;  perhaps  he  thought 
there  was  luck  in  odd  numbers. 

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SOME    GREAT    HUNTS  267 

The  finest  run  I  have  ever  seen  took  place  on  26   T^ec^mher 
1902.    The  Cottesmore  Hounds  met  in  Oakham.     The  first  draw 
was  Oakham  Pastures,  two  small  coverts  about  a  mile  south  west  of 
the  town.      Hounds   were    hardly   in    before   the    fox    was   away. 
They  got    a    good   start,   and   at   once   settled    down    to   run   at 
a  great  pace  across  the  valley,  leaving  Brook  village  on  the  right, 
and  Martinsthorpe  on  the  left,  almost  to  the  Manton  Brook;  this 
they  did   not    cross,   but   bore   right-handed,  and   it   looked  for  a 
time  as  if  Prior's  Coppice  was  his  point,  but  he  left  it  about  two 
fields  to  his  right,  and  crossing  the  valley  between  Leigh  Lodge  and 
Cole's  Lodge  made  straight  for  Launde  Park  Wood.    It  then  seemed 



a  certainty  that  he  would  enter  this  stronghold  of  foxes,  but  when 
some  quarter  of  a  mile  from  it  hounds  swung  sharp  to  the  left,  and  R 

racing  over  the  Hog's  Back  passed  the  Quakers  Spinneys,  and  cross- 
ing the  Leicester  and  Uppingham  road,  plunged  into  Wardley  Wood, 
another  grand  wood  always  full  of  foxes.  Here  one  expected  a  rest 
after  forty  minutes  at  top  speed  over  a  grand  line  of  country,  but 
not  for  a  moment  did  the  pace  slacken  till,  after  leaving  Upping- 
ham to  the  left  and  the  Stoke  End  Woods  to  the  right,  we  reached 
the  valley  of  the  Welland  and  a  check  occurred.  For  the  next 
ten  minutes  hounds  could  only  travel  slowly,  but  a  hallo  forward 

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near  Thbrpe-by-Water  got  us  on  better  terms  again,  and  they 
ran  on  down  the  water  meadows  close  to  the  river  till  they  came  to 
Harringworth  and  crossed  under  the  big  Midland  Railway  viaduct. 
He  now  left  the  valley  and  made  up  for  Barroden  Heath,  where  some 
cold  ploughs  again  brought  hounds  to  their  noses;  but  they  stuck  to 
him,  and  getting  on  to  grass  again  drove  along  well  across  Luffenham 
Heath  into  the  coverts  which  lie  at  the  east  end  of  it.  This  was  a 
very  ticklish  time,  as  there  were  fresh  foxes  afoot ;  but  all  went  well* 
and  after  five  minutes  or  so  our  dead-beat  fox  left  the  covert  and 
staggered  on  almost  to  Tixover  Grange,  where  hounds  running  into 


view  killed  him  in  the  road  along  which  he  had  run  for  the  last  300 
yards.  From  Oakham  Pastures  to  Tixover  Grange  is  nine  miles  as 
the  crow  flies,  but  as  the  run  was  roughly  speaking  three  parts  of  a 
circle,  the  distance  travelled  was  between  two  and  three  times  as 
great.  After  very  careful  measurement  on  the  map  I  cannot  make 
out  that  fox  and  hounds  ran  less  than  twenty-three  miles.  The  time 
was  2 J  hrs.  For  the  first  forty  minutes  both  pace  and  country  were 
the  very  best.  Some  of  us,  including  the  Master  and  the  huntsman, 
were  lucky  enough  to  get  our  second  horses  at  Harringworth.  By 
making  straight  through    Uppingham    they   had  practically  ridden 

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SOME    GREAT    HUNTS  269 

the  diameter  of  the  circle  while  we  were  doing  the  arc,  and  had  saved 
some  six  or  eight  miles.  I  can  hardly  believe  that  we  ran  the  same 
fox  all  through,  for  the  pace  and  country  we  travelled  in  the  first 
forty  minutes  was  enough  to  kill  ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred 
foxes;  it  seems  to  me  probable  than  our  original  fox  ran  on  into 
Launde  Park  Wood,  and  that  it  was  a  fresh  one  that  took  hounds 
sharp  to  the  left  for  Wardley  and  the  remaining  two-thirds  of  this 
wonderful  run. 

In  addition  to  a  lot  of  other  excellent  sport,  the  Cottesmore 
have  brought  off  two  first-class  runs  this  season.  On  5  December 
they  found  a  fox  in  Skeffington  Wood,  and  pointing  for  Tilton 
village  they  ran  him  as  far  as  the  osier  beds,  then  turning  left- 
handed   they  ran  to  Knowsley;  again  bearing  to  the  left  the  next 


p)oint  was  Keythorpe  Wood,  and  holding  straight  on  they  crossed 
the  Leicester  and  Uppingham  road  at  Finchley  Bridge.  Leaving 
the  big  woodlands  of  Loddington  and  Launde  well  to  the  left  they 
crossed  the  Hog's  Back  and  the  valley  beyond  near  Cole's  Lodge, 
and  killed  their  fox  handsomely  in  the  open,  on  the  high  ground 
about  half-way  between  Prior's  Coppice  and  Owston  Wood.  Unlike 
most  great  hunts,  the  latter  part  of  this  run  was  much  the  fastest, 
and  hounds  cannot  have  covered  less  than  sixteen  miles. 

On   Tuesday,  23  January,  after  a  very  frosty  morning  which 

caused  the  meet  at  Loddington  to  be  postponed  till  twelve  o'clock, 

hounds  reached  Prior's  Coppice  about  2  p.m.     Two  foxes  were  soon 

away  ;   for  a  few  minutes  the  chase  lay  in  the  direction  of  Braunston 

MO.  cxxviii.    VOL.  xxvL—March  1906  T 

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village,  but  then  bore  left-handed  by  Haycock's  Spinneys  and  over 
the  ridge  into  the  valley  at  Cole's  Lodge.  Hounds  ran  well  along 
the  brook  to  Leigh  Lodge,  where  they  were  at  fault,  but  a  hallo 
on  the  Hog's  Back  soon  put  them  right,  and  from  there  to  the  finish 
they  never  checked.  Right  well  they  ran  towards  Belton,  then 
left-handed  past  the  Quakers  almost  to  Wardley  Wood,  and  on  by 
Ayston  to  Preston  down  into  the  valley  and  across  the  brook,  over 
the  great  Martinsthorpe  Pasture,  where  we  got  a  view  of  him  as  he 
crossed  the  skyline  ;  then  bearing  to  the  right  he  recrossed  the 
ridge  between  Manton  Gorse  and  the  village,  and  almost  reached 
Wing.  Something  must  have  headed  him  here,  for  he  turned  short 
back,  and  passing  the  station  almost  retraced  his  steps  to  the  brook, 

THB     YORK     AND     AINSTY — A     MEET 

where  he  lay  down,  and  at  one  moment  hounds  were  all  round 
him.  He  was  not  done,  however,  and  by  a  supreme  effort  reached 
the  gorse  a  few  fields  further  on.  Unfortunately  for  him  there  was 
no  fresh  fox  to  come  to  his  aid,  and  after  knocking  him  about  in 
covert  with  a  tremendous  cry  for  a  few  nrtnutes,  hounds  forced  him 
into  the  open,  and  killed  him  close  to  the  village  about  half  a  mile 
from  the  covert.  A  most  delightful  hunt  over  a  perfect  riding 
country ;  time,  about  one  and  a  half  hours  ;  distance  as  hounds  ran, 
fourteen  miles. 

Like  everything   else,  both    foxhounds   and   fox-hunting  have 
probably  changed  a  good  deal  in  the  last  hundred  years.     From  all 

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SOME    GREAT    HUNTS  271 

one  can  gather,  and  from  the  evidence  of  contemporary  paintings, 
the  foxhound  of  the  present  day  is  both  stronger  and  faster,  and 
hunts  with  more  dash  and  drive,  than  his  ancestor,  and  will  therefore 
kill  his  fox  considerably  quicker  on  a  good  scenting  day  ;  but  on  the 
other  hand  he  has  not  so  fine  a  scent  and  is  not  so  good  at  line 
hunting,  so  cannot  stick  to  him  as  long  on  a  bad  scenting  day. 
These  alterations  in  the  foxhound  are  due  to  artificial  selection  and 
breeding,  and  to  the  striving  of  most  Masters  to  attain  a  type  of 
great  beauty  and  of  great  speed  and  staying  powers,  all  of  which 
the  modern  high-class  foxhound  most  undoubtedly  possesses. 

These   aims  and  objects  have  been  greatly  encouraged  by  the 
Peterborough  Hound  Show,  where  make  and  shape  is,  of  course, 


everything,  and  no  notice  can  be  taken  of  hunting  qualities.  I  had 
a  very  interesting  conversation  a  few  months  ago  with  a  friend  who 
now  hunts  the  wild  boar  in  the  forests  of  Central  France  with  a  pack 
of  English  foxhounds. 

He  told  me  that  the  French  hound  was  very  like  the  English 
hound  of  a  hundred  or  more  years  ago,  that  he  had  a  splendid 
nose  and  was  a  wonderful  line  hunter,  but  that  the  superior  size, 
courage,  and  drive  of  the  modern  English  hound  made  him  an 
infinitely  better  animal  for  the  very  rough  work  of  boar-hunting. 

The  fox  being  a  wild  animal  and  only  affected  by  the  laws  of 
nature,  is  probably  no  better  and  no  worse  than  he  was  a  hundred  or 
a   thousand   years  ago;  he  is,  however,  subject  to  circumstances, 

T  2 

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and  where  he  has  a  nice  comfortable  billet  with  plenty  to  eat  and 
is  seldom  disturbed,  he  is  apt  to  put  on  a  good  deal  too  much 
weight,  and  to  be  in  no  condition  to  afford  a  fine  run.  The  foxes 
of  the  Wardley,  Stoke  End,  and  Allexton  district  are  notoriously 
difficult  to  kill ;  there  are  plenty  of  them,  and  they  are  hunted 
almost  every  Saturday  by  either  the  Cotte 
Hounds,  so  they  are  as  fit  as  Grand  Natio 
terrible  amount  of  catching. 

Whether  the  sport  is  now  as  good  as,  or 
it  is  impossible  to  prove  and  futile  to  argue 
who  love  it,  do  our  best  to  help  it  and  keep  it 

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BY  D.  S.  SKELTON,   R.A.M.C. 

Once  upon  a  time  the  Motor  Union  of  Western  India  promoted  a 
Reliability  Trial  for  touring  cars  from  Delhi  to  Bombay.  This  event 
came  off  between  26th  December,  1904,  and  2nd  January,  1905. 
Strangely  enough  (at  first  sight)  it  attracted  far  more  than  local 
interest,  inasmuch  as  entries  were  forthcoming  not  only  from  all 
parts  of  India,  from  the  Punjab,  from  the  Calcutta  side,  from 
Southern  India  and  Ceylon,  but  also  from  Europe.  Apart  alto- 
gether from  the  value  of  the  prizes,  which  was  by  no  means  incon- 
siderable, it  appears  that  Western  manufacturers  were  at  last  in  some 
degree  alive  to  the  possibilities  of  the  Indian  trade.  In  fact,  out 
of  thirty-four  entries  no  fewer  than  twelve  came  from  Europe. 
Now,  whatever  else  the  results  of  these  motor  trials  showed,  apart 
from  all  the  squabbling  and  bickering  that  followed  the  award,  they 
taught  the  fact,  and  brought  it  home  to  every  motor  man  who 
participated,  that  here  was  a  new  land  for  himself  and  his  machine, 
in  which  to  besport  themselves.  It  taught  us,  that  all  other  func- 
tions of  a  motor-life  being  fulfilled,  there  remained  one  purpose,  one 
object  yet  in  view — "  the  exploration  of  this  amazing  "  India. 

My  good  fortune  led  me  to  enter  my  Wolseley,  brought  me  to 
Delhi  for  the  start,  and  to  Bombay  for  the  finish.  No  matter  what 
troubles  and  worry  and  bother  I  met  with  on  that  thousand  miles  of 
road,  I  shall  never  forget  and  never  regret  any  of  my  experiences. 
Last  year,  in  this  magazine,  I  was  permitted  to  detail  a  motor  tour 

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in  Ceylon,  and  in  the  summary  to  that  article  I  recommended  the 
jaded  European  motorist  to  bring  himself  and  his  car  and  explore 
some  of  the  relatively  little  known  parts  of  that  "  Pearl  of  the 
East."  Now  our  little  island  is  almost  crowded  with  motors  of 
all  sizes,  one  or  two  owners  of  which  have  confessed  to  me  that 
they  were  first  attracted  to  this  beauty-spot  by  the  photographs  that 
accompanied  my  plea  for  their  presence.  Hence,  if  in  the  course 
of  the  few  following  notes  on  the  Indian  road  I  can  impress  on 
European  owners  the  immediate  desirability  of  transferring  them- 
selves, bag,  baggage,  and  car,  to  the  '*  Shiny,"  I  shall  die  my  motor 
death  in  peace,  feeling  that  I  have  done  my  duty  to  my  fellow 
automobilists.  I  would  urge  them  to  come  over  to  "  that  new  land 
which  is  the  old,"  instead  of  fooling  away  their  time  down  on  the 
Riviera  or  other  places  where  folk  congregate  in  wintry  weather. 
«  «  ♦  «  * 

Smoke  the  pipe  of  peace  or  the  weed  of  satisfaction,  all  you 
unfortunates  in  England.  Imagine  for  a  while  that  there  is  the 
usual  thick  fog  outside,  in  the  motor  house  the  water  in  your  engine 
is  freezing,  and  to-morrow  you  will  find  your  cylinder  heads  cracked. 
Or  think  of  yourself  driving  over  the  usual  wretched,  greasy  road, 
with  the  rain  coming  down  in  torrents,  as  it  only  can  in  England. 
Imagine  yourself  suddenly  pulled  up,  when  travelling  at  your  usual 
speed  of  say  nineteen  and  a  half  miles  an  hour,  by  an  irate  officer  of 
the  law,  and  see  yourself  a  few  days  later  mulcted  in  heavy  fines, 
your  licence  endorsed  for  the  last  time,  and  your  motor  career  ended 
for  a  long  period.  Then,  as  the  master  changed  the  scene  when 
he  took  his  audience  such  a  short  distance  as  to  France,  what 
time  King  Henry  V.  invaded  that  fair  land — 

.  .  .  with  imagined  wing  our  swift  scene  flies, 

In  motion  of  no  less  cderity 

Than  that  of  thought.  .  .  . 

Play  with  your  fancies  :  and  in  them  behold 

yourself  at  Delhi  on  Christmas  Day. 

You  will  get  up  with  the  sun — that  is  to  say,  at  about  seven 
o'clock — and  you  will  have  to  help  to  prepare  the  car ;  you  may  even 
have  to  polish  the  brasswork,  for  unless  you  are  early  in  this  open 
garage  you  will  find  all  the  coolies  already  engaged  elsewhere  on  the 
score  or  more  of  motors  that  have  arrived  for  the  trials.  There  is 
hoar  frost  on  the  ground  and  it  is  mighty  cold,  but  the  sky  is  as 
blue  as  the  Mediterranean,  and  the  air  has  all  that  crispness  that  is 
so  characteristic  of  Northern  India  in  the  cold  weather ;  so  you  must 
stamp  about  and  swing  your  arms  or  work  hard  if  you  are  going  to 
keep  warm.  By-and-by  you  can  have  breakfast  before  a  blazing 
wood  fire,  and  after  that  I  will  take  you  out  in  a  small  car  through 

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the  bazaar  to  seethe  sights.  First  we  will  spin  along  the  "  Ridge," 
and  get  a  bird's-eye  view  of  all  the  city  with  its  minarets  and  towers 
glistening  in  the  sunshine.  Note  especially  the  golden  cross  on  the 
little  English  church.  Famous  it  is,  you  remember,  because  the 
mutineers  never  got  the  range  of  it,  try  as  they  would.  Afar  off  you 
see  the  Jutnma  River,  with  its  broad  bed  spanned  by  a  thread,  which 
you  shall  know  later  is  the  bridge.  Look  the  other  side,  that  is 
where  the  Durbar  Camp  was  pitched,  and  away  to  the  right  is  the 
Viceroy's  house  ;  but  that  was  a  poor  show  compared  with  the  Motor 
Durbar  of  1904-5.  Now,  along  to  the  right,  past  the  Tower  and  the 
Club,  we  will  go  into  the  town,  escaping  the  big  red  Fiat  car  by  a 





paint's  thickness  as  she  comes  humming  under  the  Cashmere  Gate. 

Next  I  will  take  you  into  the  bazaars,  where  the  big  cars  cannot  go, 

along  the  crowded  Chandi  Chowk,  and  up  to  the  Jumma  Musjik; 

but   after  exploring  the  latter  you  will  agree  with  me  there  are  finer  ^f 

mosques  in  the  world.  You  will,  perhaps,  remember  the  little  mosque 

at  Sidi  Okba,  the  one  Domini  loved  so  well  far  away  out  in  the 

"Garden  of  Allah."      How  much   more   impressive  was  that  age-  \  ^ 

stricken  little  House  of  God  !     Whilst  for  sheer  size  there  is  the  big  •  j 

mosque  at  Damascus,  with  the  three  towers,  all  ready  for  the  descent 

of  the  Prophet  and  his  party.    No,  we  will  leave  the  Jumma  Musjik  : 

it  is  too  white  and  glaring ;  we  will  drop  down  to  the  Fort.     This  of 

course  is  impressive,  if  only  on  account  of  its  frowning  walls  ;  but, 




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all  the  same,  one  feels  rather  sorry  for  the  poor  devils  who  have  to 
live  in  it  in  the  hot  weather,  for  Delhi  then  is  nearer  the  other  place 
than  to  Paradise. 

But  all  this  time  I  am  forgetting  the  road,  which  is  what  we 
came  out  for  to  see.  So  this  Christmas  afternoon  we  will  accept  an 
invitation  and  ride  in  Mr.  S.  F.  Edge's  big  Napier,  leaving  behind 
our  snorting  little  Bazaar  car  ready  for  its  run  to-morrow,  for  as  you 
say — 

Fetid  and  foul  are  the  city  streets, 

O,  let  me  once  more  feel 

The  ample  wind  in  my  shoulder  parts. 

Here,  then,  is  an  opportunity,  for  the  genial  driver  of  this  great  green 
monster  tells  me  he  wants  to  give  his  machine  a  final  run,  just  to 
ease  her  valves  and  loosen  her  sticky  parts.  Goggles,  all  the  warm 
clothes  you  have  got,  rugs,  and  a  stop-watch  will  be  all  we  shall 
want.  In  this  land,  at  this  time,  there  will  be  no  other  road  users 
and  no  other  road  interests,  as  there  are  no  suburban  villas  round 
this  town  ;  and  not  only  that,  but  the  word  has  gone  forth  that  for  a 
while  the  "  fire-car  "  rules  the  road,  so  speed  and  dust  will  incon- 
venience no  one  but  ourselves.  Out  over  the  Jumma  Bridge  and 
on  to  the  Agra  road,  there  in  front  of  you  lie  some  140  miles  of  dead 
straight  and  level  road.  Two  cars  can  pass  each  other  easily,  and 
perhaps  at  a  pinch  even  three,  and  in  addition  at  the  side  is  a  further 
soft  bit  of  road,  where  the  tender-footed  camel  treks  along.  On 
either  side  the  road  is  bordered  with  trees,  tamarind  and  acacia, 
and  beyond  them  the  cotton  fields.  Those  who  have  tramped  along 
those  roads  with  marching  troops  will  tell  of  the  monotony  of  the 
scene  where  field  and  sky  meet  and  never  an  object  breaks  in  on  the 
evenness  of  the  view.  A  brazen  sky,  too,  it  seems  under  those  con- 
ditions ;  but  now  we  see  that  country  from  the  point  of  view  of  fifty 
miles  done  in  the  hour,  instead  of  about  three,  and  the  outlook  is  not 
the  same.  Then,  from  the  snugness  of  your  car  you  can  say  to  those 
who  hate  the  eternity  of  the  Indian  road — 

Let  the  valley  lanes  seem  good  to  those 

Who  love  a  guarded  way  ; 
The  place  of  my  soul  is  the  wind-scoured  down, 

Where  the  red  sun  burns  all  day. 
And  O,  the  road,  the  gallant  road, 

Let  me  follow  and  touch  my  friend — 
The  great  green  snake  of  turf  that  glides 

With  never  a  coil  nor  bend. 

And  then  this  Northern  Indian  air — how  it  whips  the  blood,  and 
puckers  the  skin,  and  makes  the  whole  body  tingle  with  exhilaration! 
To  one  who  lives  at  a  constant  day-and-night  temperature  of  about 

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eighty  this  means  life,  fresh  life ;  for,  as  Byron  says,  though  he  little 

knew  at  the  time, 

And  there  is  nothing  gives  a  man  such  spirit, 
Leavening  his  blood  as  cayenne  does  a  curry, 
As  going  at  full  speed. 

"  Are  you  ready  to  take  the  mile  ?  "  shouts  the  driver ;  *'  you 
shall  see  'what  she  can  do,"  and  so  he  lets  her  out  in  a  way  not 
permitted,  perhaps,  since  she  won  her  owner  the  cup  in  the  Paris- 
Vienna  Gordon  Bennett  Race.  Oh,  it  does  not  matter  what  the  stop- 
watch showed,  it  was  a  minute  and  a  bit  for  every  mile.  *'  Haven't 
had  the  clutch  in  properly  yet,"  shouted  the  driver  as  he  slowed  up 


to  a  camel-cart  half  a  mile  away,  "  too  much  traffic."  Still,  sixty 
miles  an  hour  or  thereabouts  means  speed.  Henley  knew  a  little 
about  speed,  but  he  ought  to  have  experienced  it  on  an  Indian  road, 
then  we  could  have  understood  his  lines  in  "  The  Song  of  Speed  "  : — 

Speed  and  the  range  of  God's  skies, 
Distances,  changes,  surprises  ; 
Speed,  and  the  hug  of  God's  winds, 
And  the  play  of  God's  airs  ; 
Beautiful,  whiipsical,  wonderful, 
Clear,  fierce,  and  clean. 
With  a  thrust  at  the  throat, 
And  a  rush  at  the  nostrils. 

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And  then  home  again,  with  a  last  rush  through  the  Indian  twi- 
light to  get  in  before  dark,  a  real  Christmas  dinner,  a  game  of 
Bridge  over  the  Yule  log  blazing  high  up  the  big  stone  chimney, 
and  so  to  bed. 

Boxing  Day  saw  some  thirty  odd  cars  start  out  on  the  road 
that  we  travelled  over  yesterday.  In  three  or  four  hours  you  arrive 
in  Agra,  140  miles  away ;  that  is  to  say  if  you  are  lucky  enough  to 
be  in  the  big  Napier.  If  you  come  with  me  in  '*  Ambrosine '' 
you  will  take  longer,  but  you  will  get  there  all  the  same.  In 
either  case  you  will  go  and    see  the  Taj,   more   especially  as  for 

COUNT    Dl    GROPBLLO'S     l6   H.P.    FIAT,    WINNER    RANIPUR    TROPHY 

that  particular  night  a  full  moon  had  been  ordered  by  the  ever- 
thoughtful  secretary.  After  pondering  awhile  in  the  dear  old  garden 
over  this — the  most  marvellous  monument  to  a  woman  that  the 
world  has  ever  seen — you  can  come  back  and  tell  me  that  it  is  very, 
very  beautiful ;  more  beautiful  than  the  alabaster  models  of  it  they 
sell  for  a  few  annas,  and  I  shall  believe  you.  But  before  you  turn  in 
that  night,  I  would  have  you  note  that  this  day  you  have  motored 
over  a  road  as  splendid  as  any  Route  Nationale  you  have  ever  seen. 
At  distances  of  about  every  three  hundred  yards  stood  a  policeman, 
armed  with  his  grandfather's  sword  or  his  great-uncle's  ancient 
musket.     Never  a  pi-dog  nor  any  obstacle  did  you  meet  on  that 

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stretch  of   road.      It  was  a   mighty    bunderbastj  and   in    no  other 
country  in  the  world  would  such  a  bunderbast  be  possible. 

After  Agra,  the  southern  road  leads  to  Gwaiior — that  strong- 
hold set  on  a  hill — isolated,  overawing,  frowning  on  the  country 
of  the  plain.  Here  regal  hospitality  will  be  shown  you  by  the 
Maharajah  Scindia,  and  you  will  be  a  royal  guest.  But  what  of  the 
road  ?  Its  character  has  changed  since  we  left  Agra.  It  is  red 
sandstone  now,  but  its  surface  is  still  like  a  billiard  table ;  it  is  as 
straight  as  ever,  and  it  leads  due  south.  On  either  side  the  country 
is  seared  and  serrated ;  mostly  it  is  a  desert  land,  and  no  one  would 
desire  to  be  lost  in  it,  for  then  there  could  not  even  be  a  mirage  to 

THE    TAJ,     AGRA 

cheer  the  forlorn  one  and  urge  him  on  to  new  exertions.  But  the 
road  goes  relentlessly  through  it  all,  over  hills  and  down  to  broad 
rivers  that  are  crossed  by  special  ferries  or  bridges  of  boats.  For 
this  time  only  the  bunderbast  has  had  them  covered  axle  deep  in 
rushes,  and  going  across  one  of  these  strange  bridges,  with  the  boats 
swaying  about  in  the  stream  under  the  unaccustomed  strain,  makes 
one  feel  sure  that  some  connection  will  part,  and  that  self  and  car 
will  end  up  in  the  river. 

And  so  you  will  go  over  yet  another  700  miles  of  this  road  that 
keeps  the  sun  always  in  your  face.  In  the  evening-time  you  shall  think 
over  it,  and  at  the  end  you  will  have  difficulty  in  recalling  the  names 
of  the  places  you  have  passed  through.  After  Gwaiior  it  was  Goona, 
in  the  shikar  country,  and  on  this  stretch  it  was  that  the  panther 

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walked  across  the  road  right  in  front  of  us ;  then  Maksi,  which  is 
so  insignificant  a  place  as  to  be  hardly  worth  marking  on  the  map- 
yet  all  that  day  we  kept  on  passing  ruined  temples  and  ancient  forts, 
but  there  was  neither  time  nor  opportunity  to  stop.  You  only  make 
a  mental  vow  to  return  one  day  with  camera  and  sketch-book. 

Up  to  now  we  had  always  managed  to  fetch  up  at  night  at  some 
station  on  the  line,  and  thither  would  proceed  our  specia.1  train,  in 
which  we  ate  and  slept.  Here  again  everything  had  been  thought 
out,  and  in  the  most  desert  places  we  were  surrounded  with  luxuries, 
even  down  to  such  a  thing  as  a  Pianola !  But  one  night  we  came  to 
a  place  that  was  fifty  miles  from  the  railway,  and  here  arrangements 
had  been  made  for  us  to  camp.  Of  course  for  a  good  many  of  the 
English  competitors  it  was  an  experience  to  be  under  canvas.  But 
now  they  must  be  envious  of  Indian  camp  life.  The  site  selected 
was  excellent,  perched  high  up  on  the  river  banks,  and  the  Nerbudda 
river  bed  was  quite  half  a  mile  broad.  It  reminded  me  of  the 
jungle  home  of  Diana  Harrington,  and  I  almost  looked  for  her 
tame  panther  to  come  and  rub  its  nose  up  against  my  leg.  After 
that  on  through  Dhulia  and  down  one  lot  of  Ghauts,  and  over 
another  lot  to  Igatpuri,  a  pretty  little  hill  station  2,000  feet  up; 
then  down  more  Ghauts  to  the  Kalyan  ferry,  two  cars  crossing  it  at 
a  time.  It  took  an  hour  altogether  to  get  over.  Now  there  are 
only  forty  miles  in  front  of  you  to  Bombay,  and  then  behind  you  lie 
883  miles  of  an  Indian  road.  From  Comorin  to  the  Himalayas,  if 
you  span  it  on  the  schoolroom  map,  is  about  1,400  miles;  so  now 
you  may  say  that  you  have  come  well  over  half-across  India,  and 
what  is  more  you  have  seen  it,  and  seen  it  intimately.  Did  you 
know  your  amazing  England  before  the  advent  of  the  motor-car 
taught  you  the  exploration  of  it  ?  Shall  you  not  know  your  India  as 

What  impressions  crowd  into  the  mental  picture  as  you  go  over 
this  wonderful  journey  again  !  At  first  it  does  not  seem  possible  to 
sort  or  sift  them  in  any  orderly  manner.  There  exists  but  a  mass 
of  confused  impressions,  a  mental  chaos,  that  only  the  wearing  of 
time  will  regulate  and  put  in  place.  Surge  up  in  the  memory 
impressions  of  a  vast  country — mile  after  mile  of  it — visions  of 
mountain  scenery,  wild,  weird,  rugged,  stage-like  in  the  sharpness 
of  its  definition  against  the  Indian  sky.  Follow  thoughts  of  folk 
one  passed  at  speed,  picturesque,  untamed,  in  the  outer  reaches  of 
civilisation  ;  varied  again  by  memories  of  troops  on  the  march,  of 
guns  rolling  along,  of  columns  of  wagons  following ;  thoughts  of  a 
mad  rush  over  the  cantonment  road  of  a  big  military  station  with  the 
cheering  soldiers  all  under  the  impression  that  it  was  a  speed  race; 
these  jostle  with  recollections  of  the  evening  chaff  over  the  humours 

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of  the  day's  run.  How,  call  him  Jones,  having  lost  his  topee,  wore  a 
white  turban,  and  was  presented  everywhere  as  the  Rajah  of  Bhong, 
in  answer  to  the  many  queries  as  to  who  the  white  Maharajah 
Sahib  was.  What  potentate  is  better  known  now  from  Indore  to 
Bombay  than  the  genial  and  sedate  owner  of  the  New  Orleans  car, 
who  all  unseeking  had  this  honour  thrust  upon  him  ?  Then  one 
day  the  **  traction-engine,"  as  we  called  the  slow  but  sure  Beaufort, 
was  discovered  going  downhill  on  the  second  speed,  her  owner 
having  got  bitten  with  a  sudden  mania  for  pace.  How  just  as  we 
would  be  turning  in,  the  Alldays,  and  the  **  Allnight,"  as  we  called 

If.    DB    SORBL's    24    H.P.    DB    DIBTRICH,    WINNER    OF    THB    GABKWAR's 

the  little  Lenoir,  would  come  romping  in.  Yes,  on  that  journey 
pleasures  were  frequent,  pain  was  rare.  Laugh,  and  we  all  laughed; 
weep  or  break  down,  and  you  wept  alone,  but  someone  came  back  to 
fetch  the  unfortunate  one. 

Now  what  of  the  future  of  the  motor  in  India  ?  In  my  opinion 
it  has  a  great  future,  the  big  car  and  the  small  one.  The  rich  man 
with  his  big  car  has  all  India  waiting  for  him.  In  a  couple  of 
months  he  can  tour  thousands  of  miles  over  the  country.  He  can 
land  at  Bombay ;  from  there  to  Calcutta  he  will  find  a  trunk  road 
1,200  miles  long  ;  or  if  he  does  not  like  that,  he  can  first  go  south  to 
Bangalore  and  then  rejoin  the  trunk  road.     From  Calcutta  he  can 

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go   north   and  west   up  to   Peshawar  by  that   road  of  roads,  the 
*'  Grand  Trunk."     Fifteen  hundred  miles  or  more  of  this  is  there 
along  the  valley  of  the   Ganges,   taking  in   Benares,   Cawnpore, 
Lucknow,  and  other  historic  places.     Then  back  to  Bombay  by  the 
route  that  I  have  tried  to  tell  about.    He  can  make  5,000  miles  out  of 
a  tour  of  this  description.     Steevens  saw  India  in  a  month  and  wrote 
a  readable  book  about  it :  the  motor  man  could  do  the  same  if  he 
wanted  to,  only  he  could  see  a  great  deal  more,  and  could  fill  a 
library  full  of  his  impressions.     All  you  want  to  carry  in  India  is 
your  food  and  your  bedding.     There  are  dak  bungalows  at  intervals 
of  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  along  all  the  trunk  roads,  and  with  a  little 
warning  they  can  provide  the  traveller  with  the  wherewithal  to  keep 
body  and  soul  together  in  the  way  of  food.     Anything  out  of  the 
way  must  be  carried.     The  petrol  difficulty  is  overcome  by  ha\ang 
an  extra  big  tank  with  exhaust  pressure  feed.    For  instance,  I  under- 
stand that  the  Fiat  cars  >vill  carry  fuel  enough  for  a  500-mile  run. 
There   are  d6p6ts  now   all   over   India  where  petrol  can  be  got. 
Petrol  costs  in  Bombay  Rs.  1.8  (about  2s.),  and  in  Calcutta,  where 
the  oil  comes  from  Burmah,  it  is  only  about  is.  a  gallon.     But  it  is 
the  small  and  medium-sized  cars  that  have  a  great  future  in  India. 
For  the  road  officer,  for  the  district  officer,  for  sport,  or  work,  or 
play,  they  will  prove  most  valuable.     There  are  many  kinds  of  car- 
burettors in  these  days  that  use  kerosene,  and  as  kerosene  can  be  got 
in  every  little  village  almost,  even  a  man  in  the  most  out-of-the-way 
place  need  not  fear  the  petrol  difficulty  and  the  attendant  expense. 
The  question  of  tyres  to  this  class  of  car  is  in  course  of  solution,  and 
there  are  now  many  makes  of  solids  that  are  almost  as  good  and 
comfortable  to  use  as  the  best  pneumatics.     If  solid  tyres  are  going 
to  be  fitted  to  a  car  for  Indian  use,  it  is  well  to  insist  that  the  springs 
are  made  stronger  than  is  the  case  in  most  small  cars  that  I  have  seen 
out  there.     A  great  deal  of  stress  was  laid  on  tyre  troubles  in  the 
Delhi-Bombay  Trials.     It  is  true  that  punctures  were  fairly  common, 
but  then  so  they  are  everywhere.     Personally  I  had  only  two  nails 
in  my  tyres  the  whole  way,  and  I  thought  myself  very  unfortunate. 
My  recollections  of  English  motoring  are  not  so  rosy  when  I  come 
to  think  of  tyre  troubles.     I    used  to  hold  myself  very  lucky  if  I 
ever  went  a  hundred  miles  without  having  to  put  in  at  least  one  new 
inner  tube. 

Let  me  take  this  opportunity  of  reminding  English  manufac- 
turers that  India  wants  good  stuff,  and  that  India  will  have  none 
but  the  best.  England  has  lost  ground  already.  In  Bombay  and 
Calcutta  one  rarely  meets  an  English  car.^    My  Wolseley  was  looked 

1  The  hint  is  given  in  aU  kindness,  and  shonld  not  be  neglected. 

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upon  rather  as  a  curiosity,  whereas  I  counted  outside  a  big  shop  one 
day  no  fewer  than  eight  De  Dion  cars,  whilst  Darracqs,  Panhards, 
Clements,  Oldsmobiles,  and  De  Dietrichs  were  all  over  the  place- 
A  representative  of  a  big  French  firm  told  me  that  he  already  looked 
upon  India  as  a  future  market  for  their  surplus  stock,  whilst  I 
believe  that  only  a  few  English  firms  know  or  care  that  India  has 
such  a  thing  as  a  road. 

Lastly,  let  me  assure  you  motor  men  whose  licences  have  gone, 
and  whose  cylinders  have  been  cracked  by  the  frost,  that  once  you 
have  been  there,  once  you  have  tested  the  "  open  road  "  of  India  in. 

X2  a.r,     UAKKACU,  WinnSK  of  THB  LYONS  cup,  non-stop  DELHI  TO  BOMBAY 

the  cold  weather,  you  will  hear  the  East  a-calling  you  again.  Only 
get  settled  down  on  the  long  straight  road  that  leads  from  Here  to 
There,  you  will  hear  in  the  sound  of  your  engine  the  singing  of  those 
fine  lines  of  Stewart  Bowles  in  the  "  Song  of  the  Wheel  "  : — 

Fire  in  the  heart  of  me,  moving  and  chattering, 

Youth  in  each  part  of  me,  slender  and  strong ; 
Death  at  the  foot  of  me,  rending  and  shattering, 

Light  and  tremendous  I  bear  you  along; 
Up  to  the  brow  where  the  levels  go  wearily, 

Down  to  the  vale  where  the  gravels  give  speed  ; 
Holding  it,  moulding  it,  scolding  it  cheerily, 

Slave  to  your  purpose  and  sign  of  your  need. 

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Beneath  a  cloudless  sky,  intensely  blue,  Peter  Gordon  was  leading 
the  way  across  the  upper  end  of  the  Eigisch  Glacier  which  divides 
the  peaks  of  the  Eigischhorn  and  the  Schneeberg.  Peter  was  a 
strong,  cheery-faced  boy  of  two  or  three  and  twenty,  with  honest 
grey  eyes,  and  pluck  and  determination  written  in  every  feature. 
With  his  porter,  Kauffmann,  he  had  just  accomplished  the  transit 
of  the  Eigischhorn,  ascending  by  the  precipitous  rocky  southern 
slope,  and  they  were  now  making  the  descent  by  the  glacier  and  the 
Wildig  Ar^te. 

The  glacier  in  this  region,  far  above  the  line  of  perpetual  snow, 
presented  many  dangers.  The  vast  mass  of  ice  was  split  up  into 
numberless  seracs,  many  of  them  covered  with  treacherous  snow 
roofs,  where  a  single  careless  step  might  at  any  moment  precipitate 
the  climber  into  the  depths  beneath.  Some  of  the  seracs  were  of 
such  dimensions  as  to  necessitate  the  skirting  of  them,  while  others 
could  be  traversed  by  means  of  narrow  snow  bridges.  In  the  latter 
case  Peter  would  venture  first  on  hands  and  knees,  the  better  to 
divide  the  weight,  while  Kauflfmann,  standing  firmly  on  solid  ice, 
held  the  rope  tightly  between  them,  prepared  for  Peter's  sudden 

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HIGH    STAKES  285 

disappearance  beneath  his  perilous  path ;  then  Peter  would  perform 
the  same  office  for  Kauffmann. 

It  was  a  risky,  perhaps  a  foolhardy,  experiment  to  travel  on  a 
glacier  of  this  character  accompanied  only  by  a  porter;  a  slip  or  a 
false  step  on  the  part  of  either  threw  the  whole  weight  on  the 
other.  But  Peter's  adventurous  spirit  rejoiced  in  danger;  the 
glorious  views,  the  wonderful  air,  the  almost  unbroken  solitude  of 
these  lofty  regions,  touched  his  spirit  in  a  way  he  could  not  have 
described,  while  his  narrow  purse  forbade  him  the  enjoyment  of  his 
favourite  pursuit  in  a  safer  or  more  luxurious  manner.  Kauffmann, 
too,  had  all  tbe  rashness  of  youth  ;  but  though  he  was  ready  to  face 
anything,  his  nerve  had  been  known  to  fail  at  a  critical  moment. 

Suddenly  Kauffmann  pointed  to  the  cleft  in  the  mountains 
towards  the  east,  and  uttered  the  monosyllable,  "  Schnee!  '* 

Peter,  who  was  cutting  a  step  in  the  ice,  looked  up.  His  small 
knowledge  of  German  was  unnecessary  in  helping  him  to  under- 
stand Kauffmann's  exclamation,  as  he  saw  the  heavy  clouds  which 
were  rapidly  moving  towards  them.  In  their  present  position  a 
snowstorm  would  be  fraught  with  grave  danger,  for  they  were  still  a 
good  four  hours  from  the  Schneeberg  hut.  In  ten  minutes  they 
were  enveloped  in  a  blinding  snowstorm. 

The  fresh  loose  snow  on  the  frozen  surface  was  an  additional 
source  of  danger  to  every  step,  and  moreover  the  blinding  storm 
deprived  them  of  all  sense  of  direction.  For  some  time  they  plodded 
wearily  on,  till  at  length  Peter  halted.  They  were  standing  on  the 
brink  of  a  chasm,  on  the  further  side  of  which  protruded  an  over- 
hanging cornice  of  snow. 

"  Do  you  think  this  crevasse  has  a  bottom,  eh,  Kauffmann  ?  " 
asked  Peter. 

Kauffmann's  English  was  on  a  par  with  Peter's  German,  but 
his  eyes  brightened  with  assent  as  they  followed  the  direction  of 
Peter's  finger,  pointing  down  the  serac. 

**  It's  our  only  chance,"  thought  Peter;  and  they  both  proceeded 
to  untie  the  ropes  from  their  waists.  Peter  fastened  one  end  to  his  ice 
axe  and  lowered  it  over  the  edge  and  down  the  almost  perpendicular 
wall  of  ice  to  plumb  the  depth.  At  about  forty  feet  it  touched 
bottom.  They  then  drew  it  up,  and  firmly  fixing  their  axes  in  a 
crevice,  securely  knotted  the  rope  round  them.  Peter  made  the 
descent  first.  With  his  face  to  the  wall  of  ice  he  swarmed  down 
the  rope  hand  under  hand,  and  at  length  found  solid  ground  beneath 
him.  At  this  depth  the  lower  side  of  the  crevasse  sloped  towards 
the  other  almost  horizontally,  and  allowed  standing  room  about  four 
feet  in  width.  Just  a  glimpse  of  the  scurrying  storm  was  visible 

NO.  cxxviii.    VOL.  Txif. — March  1906  V 

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"  By  Jove,  we're  in  luck/'  thought  Peter,  and  shouted  to 
KaufFmann  to  follow  him,  which  he  did  immediately. 

It  was  late  in  the  season ;  the  storm  was  not  unlikely  to  last 
for  two  or  three  days,  and,  in  addition  to  the  danger  of  frost-bite 
and  the  difficulty  of  keeping  awake,  their  provisions  would  not  last 

Enveloping  themselves  in  such  wraps  as  they  had,  they  seated 
themselves  on  their  knapsacks. 

'*  Now,  old  fellow,"  said  Peter,  "we  must  not  go  to  sleep; 
nicht  schlafen,  you  know." 

Kauffmann's  teeth  were  chattering ;  Peter  looked  at  him  curi- 
ously, and  it  struck  him  that  it  was  something  besides  the  cold  that 
was  blanching  his  face. 

After  about  half  an  hour  they  heard  something  that  sounded 
like  a  shout  from  above. 

"There's  somebody  else  lost,"  said  Peter;  "up  you  go,  Kauff- 
mann,  and  see  what  it  is." 

Kauffmann  obediently  swarmed  up  the  rope,  and  when  he 
reached  the  mouth  of  the  crevasse  found  three  men  :  an  English 
tourist  whom  Peter  had  seen  at  the  hotel  below,  Ringwood  by 
name;  Bra  want,  one  of  the  guides  of  the  Eigisch  Valley;  and  a 
porter,  Brawant's  son. 

In  a  few  minutes  Peter  was  joined  by  them  all. 

"Very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Peter,  cheerily;  "  more  chance 
of  our  being  able  to  keep  ourselves  warm." 

"Goot  idea,"  said  Brawant  approvingly  to  Peter.  "I  thought 
also  of  crevasse — and  then — I  see  the  rope." 

Peter  and  the  half-frozen  Englishman  looked  at  each  other. 
Ringwood  was  a  tall,  strong,  clean-shaven  man  of  four  or  five  and 
thirty,  with  a  pleasant  if  somewhat  too  keen  expression  in  his 

"  Rather  a  queer  experience  this,"  remarked  Peter. 

"  Well,  it's  a  new  one  to  me,"  replied  the  new-comer. 

"  Have  you  done  much  climbing  ?  "  asked  Peter. 

"  First  time,"  he  answered. 

Peter  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "And  you  came  over  the 
Wildig  Arete  ?  " 

Ringwood  laughed.  "  I've  kept  a  cool  head  in  worse  places 
than  that,"  he  answered,  carelessly.  "  Now,  I  expect  you  know 
more  about  mountains  than  I  do;  how  long  do  you  think  we  can 
stand  this  ?  " 

Peter  shook  his  head.  "  I  can't  say  at  all,"  he  replied.  "  Ii's 
better  not  to  think  about  it.  My  fellow  is  rather  a  rotter,  unluckily; 
I'm  afraid  he  may  give  in." 

Digitized  by 


HIGH    STAKES  287 

**  Well,  I'll  answer  for  mine,"  remarked  the  other,   *'  though  I 
met  them  to-day  for  the  first  time." 

**  Oh,  the  Brawants  are  splendid  chaps !  "  said  Peter. 

Ringwood  produced  a  flask  out  of  his  pocket. 

"  Have  some  ?  "  he  said,  offering  it  to  Peter. 

Peter  shook  his  head. 

"  I've  got  my  own,"  he  said,  '*  but  I'm  saving  it  up." 

Ringwood  laughed  and  took  a  pull. 

***Sufiicient  unto  the  day,'"  he  remarked,  and  replaced  it  in 
his  pocket. 

There  was  a  short  silence.  The  three  Germans  were  talking 
together  in  low  voices  in  their  own  language,  while  Peter  drummed 
his  feet  on  the  ice  to  keep  the  numbness  out  of  them.  Night  was 
approaching,  and  with  it  the  dreaded  snow-sleepiness  was  beginning 
to  dull  their  senses.  As  they  sat,  their  eyes  wide  open  and  unnatu- 
rally bright,  Kauflfmann  was  the  first  to  succumb  to  the  fatal 
influence.  His  head  fell  suddenly  forward ;  Peter  and  Brawant 
each  seized  him  by  a  shoulder  and  shook  him  into  wakefulness. 
Ringwood  turned  to  Peter. 

"  I'm  feeling  rather  like  that  myself,  aren't  you  ?  "  he  said. 
**  It  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  to  have  a  game  of  cards,  if  we  had  a 
light,  would  it  ?  " 

Peter  laughed.  "It  would  be  a  very  good  one,"  he  replied; 
**  but  where  are  the  cards  ?     I've  got  a  light." 

Ringwood,  without  a  word,  produced  a  pack  from  his  pocket. 

"That's  ripping,"  said  Peter.  "I've  got  a  lantern  and  a 
couple  of  candles." 

"  Do  you  know  ^cart6  ?  "  asked  Ringwood. 

"  I  know  something  about  it,"  said  Peter,  putting  one  of  the 
candles  into  the  lantern  and  lighting  it  as  he  spoke. 

Ringwood,  with  practised  hand,  threw  the  low  cards  out  of  the 
pack,  while  Peter  balanced  the  lantern  between  his  knee  and  the 
side  of  the  crevasse. 

"What  about  stakes ?"  asked  Ringwood. 

"  Oh,  anything  you  like,"  replied  Peter,  carelessly.  "  Shall  we 
play  sixpenny  points  ?  " 

Ringwood  gave  him  a  lightning  glance. 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  indifference. 

They  began  to  play.  At  the  end  of  the  first  deal,  Ringwood 
csLSt  a  discontented  glance  at  the  lantern. 

"  I  can't  see  anything  by  this  infernal  flicker,"  he  said.  "  Can't 
we  do  better  than  this  ?  " 

"  Brawant    has    another    lantern,"    responded    Peter.     "  Eh, 

Brawant  ? " 

U  a 

Digitized  by 



Brawant,  who  had  drawn  close,  and  was  watching  the  game 
with  interest,  nodded  and  lighted  a  second  lantern. 

Peter  won  the  first  two  games,  and  at  the  end  of  the  second 
Ringwood  yawned  palpably. 

*'  Don't  go  to  sleep,  man,"  said  Peter,  who  was  beginning  to 
feel   very  wide  awake. 

"  I  don't  think  these  stakes  will  keep  me  awake  long,"  replied 
Ringwood,  with  a  smile. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  play  ? "  asked  Peter. 

**  I  don't  mind  in  the  least,"  replied  Ringwood,  cheerfully; 
'*but  I  should  think  we  might  raise  the  stakes  to  half-a-crown. 
You  see,  I  generally  play  for  fivers  even  when  I  haven't  got  to  keep 
myself  awake." 

Peter's  face  lengthened. 

**  I'm  afraid  I  can't  do  anything  like  that,"  he  said  ;  **  but  we'll 
play  for  half-crowns,  by  all  means." 

Peter  won  the  two  following  games,  and  again  Ringwood 
yawned.  The  next  suggestion  that  the  stakes  should  be  raised  came 
from  Peter,  and  Ringwood  began  to  play  with  more  interest. 

Young  Brawant  and  Kauffmann  were  now  also  watching  the 
play.  The  elder  Brawant,  who  had  grasped  the  principles  of  the 
game  at  once,  explained  them  to  the  other  onlookers  in  a  few  low, 
guttural  words.     Again  Peter  won. 

**  You  have  the  devil's  own  luck,"  remarked  Ringwood,  as  he 
shuffled  the  cards. 

Peter  made  no  answer;  he  was  in  the  first  stages  of  the 
gambler's  fever,  and  he  picked  up  the  cards  with  hands  trembling 
with  an  excitement  altogether  new  to  him.  By  the  end  of  the 
next  game  he  had  won  3^50;  and  then  the  luck  turned.  His  ex- 
citement increased  as  his  winnings  disappeared.  Again  and  yet 
again  the  stakes  were  raised,  each  time  the  suggestion  coming  from 
him.     Brawant  suddenly  laid  his  hand  on  Peter's  arm. 

*'  He  play  too  goot  for  you,"  he  said,  slowly. 

Ringwood's  face  flushed  a  little. 

'*  We'll  stop  if  you  like,"  he  said,  watching  Peter  as  he  spoke. 

Peter  turned  his  excited  eyes  on  Brawant. 

*' Nonsense,  man,"  he  said,  "I  shall  win  it  back;  it's  all  a 
question  of  cards." 

Brawant  said  no  more,  and  the  game  went  on  in  tense  silence. 
It  was  a  strange  scene — the  five  men  buried  in  the  depths  of  the  ice, 
all  kept  from  the  sleep  that  must  have  been  death  by  the  excite- 
ment of  the  man  who  was  losing  all,  and  more  than  all,  he  possessed. 
The  first  rays  of  the  grey  autumn  dawn  found  them  still  playing. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  shout  from  Brawant.     Peter  was  dealing 

Digitized  by 


HIGH    STAKES  289 

with  shaking  hands  and  took  no  notice,  but  the  others  looked  up 
hastily.  Through  the  crack  that  intervened  between  the  lower  side 
of  the  crevasse  and  the  cornice  of  snow,  a  glimpse  of  blue  sky  was 
to  be  seen.  Ringwood  rose  stiffly  to  his  feet,  looking  at  his  scorfe  as 
he  did  so. 

**  You  owe  me  £"2,250,"  he  said.     "  I'll  give  you  your  revenge 
another  time  if  you  like.*' 

Peter  gazed  at  him  with  scared  eyes;  the  fever  was  already 
gone,  leaving  him  with  a  sudden  strange  sickness  at  heart. 

£2,250  !  It  meant  ruin ;  nay,  it  meant  more  than  ruin,  for  he 
could  never  pay  such  a  sum  ;  it  meant  disgrace  !  With  a  great 
effort  he  pulled  himself  together,  scrawled  I  O  U  on  the  paper 
which  recorded  his  losses,  signed  his  name,  and  handed  it  to  Ring- 
wood,  who  pocketed  it  in  silence.  Then,  one  by  one,  they  scram- 
bled slowly  and  painfully  out  of  the  crevasse. 


The  storm  had  passed ;  the  rays  of  the  sun,  not  yet  visible 
above  the  mountains,  had  just  reached  the  highest  peak  of  the 
Schneeberg  range,  and  were  bathing  it  in  crimson  splendour.  Save 
for  that  one  spot  of  burning  colour  the  whole  world  looked  utterly 
desolate.  Brawant  turned  to  Peter,  who  was  staring  before  him 
-with  unseeing  eyes. 

'*  It  would  be  safer,"  Brawant  said,  **  one  rope  for  all  to  use." 

Peter  started,  and  nodded  assent.  As  soon  as  the  rope  was  tied 
round  them — an  operation  which  in  their  benumbed  state  took  some 
time  to  perform — they  moved  slowly  and  stiffly  towards  the  edge  of 
the  glacier.  Every  motion  caused  them  intense  pain  as  the  blood 
began  to  course  freely  in  their  veins,  but  Peter  welcomed  the  physical 
discomfort  as  a  relief  to  the  mental  agony  which  tortured  him. 
Nearly  a  foot  of  fresh  snow  had  fallen.  Brawant,  who  was  leading 
the  way,  sounded  the  ground  with  his  ice-axe  before  every  step,  and 
the  party,  plunging  nearly  up  to  their  knees,  progressed  very  slowly. 
When  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  glacier  the  sun  was  already  high 
in  the  heavens,  and  they  rested  a  minute  or  two  to  put  on  their 
smoked  glasses  before  continuing  their  route.  A  steep  snow  slope 
had  next  to  be  crossed  before  they  reached  the  Wildig  Ar^te. 

Brawant  examined  the  state  of  the  ground  anxiously.  Only 
about  six  inches  of  the  new  soft  snow  rested  on  this  slope. 

"  We  shall  have  to  cut  steps  in  the  lower  hard  surface,"  re- 
marked Peter.  "  There  is  not  enough  fresh  snpwto  provide  foothold. 
I  think  I'll  go  in  front  here,  Brawant." 

Brawant  glanced  doubtfully  at  him ;  but  Peter  had  apparently 
recovered  himself;  his  mouth  looked  firm,  and  his  voice  was 

Digitized  by 



"  I  must  be  doing  something,'*  he  muttered.  "  You  don't 
object,  do  you  ?  "  he  asked  Ringwood. 

Ringwood  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You  know  your  work,  I 
suppose,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  he  knows,"  Brawant  said,  and  the  change  was  made. 

Peter  was  certainly  steady  enough,  and  cut  the  deep,  safe  steps 
with  a  sure  hand.  Ringwood  watched  him  with  a  feeling  of  vague 
surprise.  The  excitable  bey,  who  had  so  completely  lost  his  head 
in  the  past  night,  was  not  to  be  recognised  in  the  firm,  active  figure 
before  him,  whose  every  movement  showed  courage  and  self- 
possession.  Ringwood,  though  the  word  "  fear  "  had  no  meaning  to 
him,  was  gifted  with  a  vivid  imagination,  and  pictured  the  effect  of 
a  single  false  step  :  the  first  slip,  the  slide  at  lightning  s]>eed  down 
the  smooth  slope,  and  finally  the  crash  from  precipice  to  precipice 

At  length  the  snow  slope  was  passed  and  they  reached  the 
Wildig  Ar6te.  This  arete  was  a  razor-like  ridge  of  rock ;  on  the 
western  side,  a  longr,  steep  slope  of  solid  ice  ran  down  to  meet  the 
precipices  of  the  Schneeberg,  while  on  the  eastern  side  there  was  a 
sheer  drop  of  several  thousand  feet  on  to  a  glacier.  The  ridge  was 
level — given  a  steady  head,  there  was  no  particular  risk  in  crossing 
it  under  ordinary  circumstances,  but  now  as  they  emerged  from  the 
shelter  of  the  mountain  they  encountered  a  terrific  hurricane  raging 
from  the  east  at  right  angles  to  the  ridge. 

'*  Are  we  going  to  cross  it  in  this  ?  "  Ringwood  asked. 

"  It's  all  right,"  Peter  explained.  "  We  shall  have  to  lean 
against  the  wind  and  we  shall  be  as  safe  as  on  a  calm  day." 

Peter  had  resolutely  put  from  his  mind  all  recollection  of  the 
night's  experience — it  was  in  the  past,  and  it  lay  like  a  dark  shadow 
over  the  future ;  but  the  present  was  his  to  enjoy  with  all  the  young, 
healthy  vitality  that  found  an  additional  zest  in  every  danger.  They 
again  changed  their  order  on  the  rope  to  that  in  which  they  had 
crossed  the  glacier.  Brawant  led  the  way,  followed  by  Ringwood ; 
then  came  Kauffmann,  Peter,  young  Brawant  bringing  up  the  rear. 
The  wind  was  so  strong  that  only  by  leaning  over  the  abyss  at  an 
angle  of  some  forty-five  degrees  could  they  keep  their  balance. 

The  knife-like  ridge  was  almost  crossed — indeed,  Brawant's 
hand  was  already  on  the  solid  rock  of  the  Schneeberg  slope — when 
suddenly,  without  any  warning,  the  wind  dropped.  Peter  and  the 
three  Germans  were  at  once  instinctively  erect.  Not  so  Ringwood ! 
Failing  to  adjust  himself  to  the  new  conditions,  he  fell  headlong 
over  the  precipice.  Kauffmann,  instead  of  holding  tight  the  short 
coil  of  the  rope  which  he  was  carrying  in  his  hand,  let  it  go; 
Brawant,   though   in  an  absolutely   insecure  position,  managed  to 

Digitized  by 


HIGH    STAKES  291 

sustain  the  sudden  weight  of  Ringwood,  and  literally  before  the 
jerk  of  the  rope,  which  would  undoubtedly  have  been  fatal  to  the 
whole  party,  came  on  Kauffmann,  Peter  flung  himself  over  the  other 
side  of  the  ridge,  trusting  entirely  to  the  strength  of  the  hemp. 
Kauffmann  was  thrown  violently  to  his  face,  and  young  Brawant 
was  dragged  over  the  edge  by  Peter ;  but  they  both  had  their  axes 
in  a  moment  into  the  surface  of  the  icy  slope,  and  regained  the 
ridge  without  assistance,  while  the  elder  Brawant  drew  Ringwood 
back  into  safety. 

Ringwood's  face  was  rather  white,  but  in  a  moment  or  two  his 
colour  returned.  He  walked  steadily  forward  to  the  rocks  and  then 
spoke  to  Brawant  with  his  usual  easy  laugh. 

"  By  Jove,  that  was  a  close  shave  !  How  was  it  that  we  didn't 
all  go  over  ?  " 

Brawant,  with  a  keen  glance  at  Ringwood,  pointed  to  Peter. 

"  He  threw  himself  over  the  other  side,"  he  said.  "  He  saved 
your  life — he  saved  us  all." 

Ringwood's  cheeks  flushed,  and  he  looked  at  Peter's  white  set 

Peter  took  no  notice  of  him ;  the  danger  over,  shame  and 
despair  were  once  more  laying  their  grip  on  him.  As  his  eye  roved 
over  the  landscape  of  dazzling  whiteness,  he  strove  in  vain  to  see 
some  escape  from  the  darkness  that  held  his  spirit.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  there  was  but  one  way  of  eluding  it.  For  a  moment  he 
closed  his  eyes  to  shut  out  the  beauty  of  the  world  he  loved,  and 
something  like  a  groan  broke  from  his  lips. 

The  rest  of  the  way  presented  little  difficulty ;  the  party  de- 
scended in  almost  complete  silence  ;  in  a  couple  of  hours*  time  they 
gained  the  Schneeberg  hut,  where  they  unroped,  and  by  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  were  nearing  Eigischwald. 

Ringwood  suddenly  addressed  Peter : 

'*  Look  here,  perhaps  you  have  some  difficulty  in  paying  that 

money  ?  You  saved  my  life  and *'  As  he  spoke  he  drew  the  I  O  U 

from  his  pockef'and  handed  it  to  Peter. 

Peter  did  not  take  it ;  he  started  and  laughed  harshly. 

**  What  diff^erence  do  you  think  that  makes?"  he  said.  **  Do 
you  think  I  am  going  to  live  without  paying  my  debts  of  honour  ?  '* 

The  words  were  boyish,  but  the  glint  in  Peter's  eyes  was  not. 

**  Don't  be  a  fool !  **  said  Ringwood,  with  a  half-contemptuous 
smile  on  his  lips. 

Peter  made  no  reply,  but  walked  on  in  silence.  There  was  a 
shadow  on  Ringwood's  face. 

"  Curse  the  young  fool !  "  he  muttered.  '*  What  is  he  going  to 
do  ?     Sell  up  all  his  people,  or  shoot  himself?  '' 

Digitized  by 



Peter  gave  him  no  further  opportunity  of  speaking  to  him,  but 
as  soon  as  he  reached  the  hotel  went  straight  up  to  his  room.  He 
locked  the  door,  and  flinging  himself  on  a  chair,  buried  his  haggard 
face  in  his  hands.  ;f  2,250  !  He  tried  to  think — to  find  some  way 
out  of  the  net  that  bound  him  ;  but  there  was  none  !  He  rose  slowly, 
unlocked  his  dressing  case,  and  drew  out  a  small  revolver. 

Still  he  paused.  His  thoughts  turned  to  his  mother  ;  he  must 
write  to  her ;  she  should  know  that  in  spite  of  his  miserable  weak- 
ness he  had  nevertheless  in  his  last  adventure  played  a  man's  part. 
It  might  comfort  her  a  little ;  and  he  sat  down  and  wrote  her  a 
long  letter.  There  was  nothing  more  to  do.  He  closed  the  letter, 
and  quietly  raised  the  revolver. 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Who's  there?  "  he  cried,  impatiently. 

**A  letter  for  M'sieur." 

Peter  crossed  the  room,  took  the  letter,  and  relocked  the  door. 

He  tore  open  the  envelope,  drew  out  the  contents,  and  then 
stood  very  still. 

They  consisted  of  his  I  O  U,  and  a  single  card — the  king  of 

On  the  back  of  the  card  a  broad  red  line  had  been  drawn  in  a 
circle.  It  surrounded  a  small,  almost  imperceptible  cross,  and 
below  were  the  words,  "  I  was  cheating." 

Digitized  by 



A    WEEK    ON    A    SIND    JHEEL 


Dawn  was  breaking  as  we  left  the  station  on  the  camels  which 
had  been  sent  under  charge  of  a  native  officer  to  meet  us.  Sending 
our  j>ersonal  baggage  round  by  the  road,  and  taking  only  guns,  we 
started  across  country  through  high  jungle  grass.  Presently  the  sun 
rose  a  glowing  mass,  and  the  Indian  day  had  broken :  bird  life  woke 
with  the  sun,  partridges  calling,  countless  minahs  chattering,  green 
parrots  screeching  as  they  flew  past,  doves  and  blue  jays  fluttering 
about  in  hundreds,  whilst  an  occasional  jackal  slunk  away  from  the 
village  where,  prowling  in  search  of  food,  he  had  made  night  hideous 
with  his  unmelodious  voice. 

After  a  few  miles  of  this  jungle  we  reached  cultivated  country, 
and  saw  evidence  of  our  proximity  to  the  jheel  in  large  flights  of 
geese,  duck,  and  other  water  birds  passing  to  the  cornfields  for 
their  morning  feed.  In  rather  over  an  hour  we  reached  our  camp, 
which  had  been  sent  on  a  day  previously  with  the  necessary  estab- 
lishnnent ;  breakfast  was  awaiting  us,  not  to  mention  half  the 
inhabitants  of  the  neighbouring  village,  fifty  pariah  dogs,  and  our 
three  shikarees. 

Digitized  by 



Whilst  the  others  are  discussing  breakfast,  getting  out  shooting 
kit,  etc.,  let  me  introduce  the  reader  to  our  party.  Captain  D., 
happy  as  a  schoolboy  at  getting  away  for  a  much-needed  rest  from 
work;  B.,  irresponsible  as  the  usual  subaltern,  happy-go-lucky  and 
keen  as  mustard ;  and  myself.  Our  camp  was  pitched  some  two 
hundred  yards  from  the  water's  edge,  which,  nowhere  more  than 
three  feet  deep,  was  here  so  shallow  that  our  punts  had  to  be  kept 
at  the  village  about  half  a  mile  distant;  and  glad  indeed  were  we 
that  it  was  so  far ;  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  a  more  evil-smelling, 
filthy  place,  consisting  as  it  did  of  grass  huts,  in  which  human 
beings,  donkeys,  ponies,  sheep,   cats,  and  dogs  all  lived  together. 


At  the  landing-stage  wrinkled  hags  were  cleaning  last  night's  catch 
of  fish,  surrounded  by  herons  and  cormorants,  which  walked  about 
amongst  the  dogs  and  people  fearlessly  picking  up  the  tit-bits. 

Each  getting  into  a  punt  similar  in  shape  to  those  one  finds  on  the 
Thames,  and  poled  by  our  shikarees  with  long  bamboos,  we  set  out 
for  the  open  water,  and  were  soon  in  the  thick  of  the  duck,  which 
were  literally  in  thousands,  but  rising  at  long  ranges.  Getting  a  bird 
here  and  there  whilst  crossing  this  open  water  we  reached  some 
large  patches  of  withered  lotus  leaves;  here  the  birds  rose  ver\' 
much  closer,  giving  beautiful  shots.  It  was  stealing  along  through 
these  lotus  patches,  the  gunner  crouching  in  the  bow,  and  the  shikaree 

Digitized  by 


A    WEEK    ON    A    SIND    JHEEL  295 

squatting  in  the  stern  poling  quietly  along,  that  we  bagged  most 
of  our  geese,  mallards,  and  pintails,  which  in  the  open  would  never 
allow  one  to  approach  sufficiently  close  to  get  in  a  shot.  But  the 
prettiest  shooting  of  all  was  the  driving.  If  we  reached  an  open 
piece  of  water  where  the  duck  were  more  than  usually  plentiful,  we 
ran  the  punts  under  cover  of  the  clumps  of  reeds  growing  in  the 
jheel,  and  sent  one  or  more  larger  boats  to  drive  the  birds  over  the 
guns  ;  then  indeed  the  fun  began,  fast  and  furious,  and  we  really 
wanted  two  guns  each,  which  we  unfortunately  had  not  got. 

The  shikarees  knew  all  the  birds  by  their  English  names  and 
were  at  times  most  useful  owing  to  their  wonderful  eyesight ;  if  one 
were  going  to   fire  at  a  gadwell   (the  commonest  species  of  duck  on 


the  Munchur  jheel),  they  would  hurriedly  say,  **  Do  not  fire,  sahib, 
a  mallard  is  coming  after  him,"  and  one  reserved  one's  shot  for  the 
better  bird.  It  is  very  hard  to  distinguish  one  duck  from  another 
at  any  distance  when  flying  straight  at  you,  but  the  shikarees  seemed 
to  have  no  difficulty  whatever  in  the  matter,  and  could  almost 
always  tell  you  that  such  and  such  was  a  mallard,  shoveller,  red- 
headed pochard,  cotton  teal,  or  whatever  it  might  happen  to  be. 
Great  emulation  of  course  existed  as  to  who  should  shoot  the 
greatest  number  of  geese,  but  D.  established  a  good  lead  the  first 
day,  which  he  managed  to  maintain  throughout.  His  shikaree,  an 
excellent  man,  who  knew  all  the  best  places  for  mallard  and  geese, 
having  poled  him  to  within  thirty   yards  of  a  big  flock  in  some 

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rushes,  as  they  rose  D.  let  fly  into  them  with  a  right  and  left  oi 
No.  5's  and  slew  four.  These  were  bar- headed  geese;  we  got  f^rey- 
lags  on  other  occasions. 

Dotted  all  over  the  jheel  were  boats  occupied  by  natives  em- 
ployed in  fishing  in  a  most  primitive  fashion.  A  man  armedwiflna 
long  bamboo  on  one  end  of  which  was  nailed  a  piece  of  flat  board 
propels  the  bo  it  by  an  occasional  stroke,  and  then  raising  the  pole 
above  his  head  brings  the  board  down  with  a  tremendous  splash  on 
the  water  ;  should  a  fish  happen  to  be  lying  near  where  the  splash 
has  occurred  he  darts  from  his  weedy  cover  to  another  spot  nearby, 


whereupon  the  fisherman,  picking  up  from  beside  him  a  conical- 
shaped  net,  plunges  it  down  over  the  fish.  They  catch  about  forty 
fish  a  day  in  this  manner,  weighing  from  three-quarters  up  to  two 
pounds  each,  though  occasionally  very  much  larger  ones  are  taken 
in  the  seine  nets,  and  make  about  a  rupee  a  day  by  selling  them. 
The  seine  net  is  used  with  great  effect.  Having  laid  one  out  in  a 
large  semi-circle,  its  joint  owners  advance  in  line,  driving  the  fish 
towards  it  by  splashing  the  water,  sounding  drums,  cymbals,  and 
conches.  When  the  line  has  advanced  close  to  the  net  the  ends  ot 
the  latter  are  drawn  round  to  close  the  circle ;  this  movement  being 

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A    WEEK    ON    A    SIND    JHEEL  297 


AN      INDIAN     MILL 

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completed,  the  fishermen  jump  inside  the  ring  of  the  net,  and  the 
terrified  fish  rushing  round  are  caught  in  the  meshes ;  the  men  then 
dive,  remove  and  bring  up  one  in  each  hand,  throwing  them  to 
their  women-folk  in  the  boats,  who  kill  and  store  them. 

The  duck  are  also  taken  in  thousands  as  follows  : — A  net  about 
half  a  mile  long  is  suspended  on  poles  some  ten  feet  high,  the  lower 
portion  of  it  being  looped  up  at  intervals  so  as  to  form  bags;  and 
during  the  day  the  duck  are  gradually  driven  away  from  other  places 
to  the  vicinity  of  the  net.  When  it  is  quite  dark  several  boats 
coming  behind  the  birds  make  them  swim  towards  the  trap.  As  soon 

TWO    OF    THE    GUNS 

as  the  main  portion  ot  the  flock  is  about  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
meshes  the  natives  light  and  swing  about  torches  of  pine-wood.  The 
duck,  terrified,  rise,  fly  into  the  net,  and  striking  it,  fall  into  the 
looped-up  pockets.  In  a  good  drive  two  hundred  or  more  birds  are 
taken.  These  are  disposed  of  to  the  local  bunniah  (who  rents  the 
netting)  for  a  halfpenny  apiece.  The  netters  are  allowed  to  retain 
about  40  per  cent,  of  such  birds,  the  bunniah  buying  the  remainder 
at  this  nominal  rate.  Curiously  enough  the  natives  prefer  coot  to 
duck,  and  were  always  saying  to  us  if  we  got  within  range  of  abic 
bunch  of  these  birds,  **  Arhi  maro,  sahib,  arhi  maro !  "   (Shoot  coot, 

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A    WEEK    ON    A    SIND    JHEEL  299 

sahifc,  shoot  coot !)  If  the  bird  was  shot  dead  it  was  useless,  as 
good  Mussulmans  will  not  eat  anything  in  which  life  has  been  unless 
its  throat  has  been  cut  and  blood  has  flown.  In  this  respect  I  do 
not  think  our  shikarees  were  very  particular  if  no  one  saw  them.  I 
noticed  several  coot  whose  throats,  after  cutting  operations  had  been 
performed,  appeared  singularly  dry.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  even  a 
second  after  death  has  taken  place  not  a  drop  of  blood  will  flow. 
Imnnediately  the  operation  had  occurred  the  bird  was  plucked, 
rent  asunder,  and  cast  into  the  cooking-pot  in  the  large  boat  which 


accompanied  us.    This  large  boat  was  a  great  institution.    Originally 

intended  to  carry  spare  cartridges,  lunch  baskets,  and  drinks  for  us, 

it    actually   carried   a   huqqah  and   the   cooking-pot   of    enormous  r 

dimensions  in  which   a  stew    of  arhis,    rice,    and  other   foodstuffs 

simmered  all  day.     Round  this  were  assembled  the  shikarees,  when 

off  duty,  and  at  all  times  a  vast  concourse  of  their  relations,  who, 

like  children  at  a  bran-pie,  plunged  their  hands  into  the  pot  for 

what  they  might  get.     I  was  the  only  one  who  went  after  snipe,  and 

pn   that  day  had  capital  sport.     The  snipe  lay  in  osier  beds  about 


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five  feet  high ;  two  beaters  went  through  these  whilst  I  walked  along 
a  bank  at  the  edge,  and  took  the  birds  as  they  topped  the  osiers;  one 
found  them  also  lying  out  in  the  long  grass  round  the  edge  of  the 

We  always  came  back  to  camp  for  lunch,  after  which  we 
counted  out  the  bag,  had  the  birds  tied  up,  labelled,  and  loaded  on 
camels  for  dispatch  to  Quetta.  I  say  we,  but  it  is  perhaps  incorrect, 
as  B.  was  a  confirmed  offender  in  this  respect,  even  from  the  first 
day,  when  he  came  back  at  5.30  p.m.  When  we  asked  where  he 
had  been,  he  said  he  had  met  three  other  men  shooting.    Had  he 

A    GOOD    BAG 

shot  with  them  ?  Oh,  yes,  they  had  had  one  drive  .  .  .  but  they 
had  a  splendid  lunch  .  .  .  cold  partridges,  snipe,  duck,  beer,  limes, 
hock,  and  salad  .  .  .  three  kinds  of  salad  ;  the  salads  were  splendid. 
We  could  get  no  further  information  out  of  him  on  this  subject. 
After  tea  we  generally  went  out  for  a  shoot  in  a  large  stretch  of  reeds 
opposite  our  camp,  and  had  an  hour  when  birds  were  flighting.  We 
got  chiefly  teal,  and  by  snap  shooting  at  that,  too,  as  they  went  in 
and  out  amongst  the  rushes.  The  bags  in  the  evening  were  hardly 
commensurate  to  the  amount  of  powder  burnt. 

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A    WEEK    ON    A    SIND    JHEEL  301 

In  addition  to  the  kinds  of  duck  already  mentioned,  we  shot 
widgeon,  cotton-teal,  blue-winged  teal,  white-eyed,  red-crested, 
and  black-headed  pochards,  plover,  pigeon,  and  quail,  as  well  as 
several  coarse  kinds  of  water  birds  for  our  shikarees.  The  total  bag 
was  631  duck,  25  geese,  82  snipe,  119  others. 

The  shikarees  had  asked  us  to  keep  all  the  empty  cartridge 
cases  instead  of  throwing  them  away,  as  they  wished  to  take  them 
to  their  own  villages  for  their  children  to  play  with;  but  the  children 
of  the  local  village  used  to  beg  so  for  them  that  we  threw  a  handful 
or  two  amongst  them  as  the   boats  approached  the  landing  stage. 

THE     END    OF    THE     DAY 

Frightful  scrambles  ensued,  and  the  victorious  ones  emerged  with 
**  rings  on  their  fingers  and  bells  on  their  toes,"  or  rather  cartridge 
cases  answering  the  same  purpose,  of  course  dripping  from  head  to 
foot  with  oose  and  filthy  mud,  whilst  others  filled  their  cases  with 
the  oose  and  quaffed  it  as  if  it  were  nectar.  Fortunately  they  wear 
no  clothes,  so  cannot  spoil  any,  and  apparently  filth  agrees  with 
thetn  internally  as  well  as  externally. 

A  great   fund  of  amusement  was    B.*s   camp   equipment.      It 
consisted  of  a  21  lb.  tent  which  he  was  under  the  impression  one 
could  stand  up  in  inside ;  it  actually  stood  3  ft.  at  the  ridge-pole, 
MO.  CZXV11I.     VOL,  XXII. — March  i^o§  X 

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He  was  also  possessed  of  an  iron  truckle-bed  weighing  about  two 
hundredweight,  which,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  we  should  have 
been  quite  unable  to  get  inside  the  tent,  but  which  through  D.'s 
and  my  united  endeavours  did  get  there,  together  with  much  other 
matter,  while  B.  was  eating  those  wonderful  salads  on  the  first  day. 
A  kit  bag  stuffed  with  cartridges,  gun-case,  a  tin  of  shortbread, 
and  a  cup  completed  his  outfit,  if  one  does  not  also  include  a  fur- 
lined  coat,  which  hardly  seemed  a  necessity  with  the  thermometer 
standing  at  98  in  the  shade. 

The  whole  arrangements  of  the  camp  went  like  clockwork. 
We  had  merely  to  give  a  hint  of  anything:  we  required,  from  a  sheep 
to  an  egg,  audit  promptly  appeared.  This  and  our  heartiest  thanks 
were  due  to  a  friend  of  D.'s  living  in  Sind,  who  had  warned  the 
head-man  of  the  village  to  look  after  our  requirements,  and  had 
picked  out  the  two  best  shikarees  on  the  jheel  for  us. 

We  were  a  very  despondent  trio  as  our  train,  leaving  behind  the 
green  and  fertile  country,  crawled  at  snail's  pace  up  the  Bolan  into 
barren  Baluchistan,  especially  as  a  year  is  a  long  time  to  look  across 
to  a  repetition  of  our  week's  shoot  in  Sind. 

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ST.     PATRICK     WITH     BOB    JOHNSON     UP 


BY     LILIAN     E.      BLAND 

On  looking  over  photographs  representing  horses  of  the  present  day, 
and  comparing  them  with  the  old  prints  of  sporting  celebrities,  one 
is  forcibly  struck  by  the  sameness  and  lack  of  character  in  the  modern 
work,  in  which  as  a  rule  the  horse  is  standing  in  a  conventional 
attitude.  Of  course,  the  camera  lens  draws  true  to  Hfe,  although 
the  photographer  can  alter  that  **  truth  "  considerably,  giving  pro- 
minence to  good  qualities,  and  hiding  any  bad  points.  I  have,  for 
instance,  taken  four  consecutive  snapshots  of  a  horse  from  various 
positions,  the  result  being  four  totally  different  animals  ;  and  this  is 
one  reason  why  I  think  the  old  prints,  although  open  to  criticism  in 
some  respects,  give  one  a  better  idea  of  the  horse  portrayed  than 
any  modern  photograph.  It  is  with  the  kind  assistance  of  Mr.  S.  B. 
Darby,  of  Rugby,  a  well-known  connoisseur  of  old  prints,  that  I 
have  been  able  to  write  this  article,  as  he  knows  the  history  of  every 
horse  and  jockey  down  to  the  more  minute  details. 

X    2 

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It  is  interesting  to  compare  the  old  type  of  St.  Leger  winners 
with  some  of  those  one  sees  now  contending  for  our  big  events,  and 
to  speculate  on  what  the  Chifneys,  Bill  Scott,  Ben  Smith,  and 
others  would  have  thought  of  the  fashionable  American  seat,  when 
they  rode  so  long  that  they  hardly  seemed  to  rise  in  the  saddle ! 

Chifney  senior,  at  any  rate,  had  a  good  opinion  of  himself,  and 
at  the  youthful  age  of  eighteen  said  that  he  "  could  ride  horses 
in  a  better  manner  in  a  race  to  beat  others  than  any  person  I 
ever  knew  in  my  time,"  and  probably  few  differed  from  his  opinion. 
The  jockeys  then  were  apparently  not  particular  in  their  get-up, 
which  is  described  as  peg-tops,  brown  breeches,  white  stockings,  and 


short  gaiters.  Chifney  also  sported  a  ruffle  and  frill  whenever  he 
'*  took  silk,'*  while  love-locks  hung  on  each  side  beneath  his  jockey's 
cap.  Are  there  many  men  now  who  could  rival  Ben  Smith's 
pluck  and  loyalty  when,  a  horse  having  broken  his  leg  with  a  kick, 
he  refused  to  dismount,  and  won  the  race,  as  he  deserved,  on  the  Duke 
of  Hamilton's  Ironsides  ? 

Endless  are  the  anecdotes  about  these  jockeys,  their  gameness 
and  endurance.  Frank  Buckle  thought  nothing  of  hacking  ninety- 
two  miles  to  Newmarket  and  back  to  ride  trials. 

It  would  be  a  lengthy  proceeding  to  give  an  account  of  all 
Herring's  works.  He  was  at  one  time  a  well-known  coachman  of 
the  London  and  York  Highflyer,  but  he  gave  up  the  reins  for  the 

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paint  brush,  and  his  first  study  in  anatomy  was  the  fractured  leg 
of  Spartan.  His  series  of  St.  Leger  winners  began  in  1815,  but  they 
were  copied  with  slight  alteration  from  other  artists'  paintings.  Thus 
his  portrait  of  Filho  da  Puta  was  evidently  taken  from  Ben  Marshall's 
fine  mezzotint  of  this  horse  and  Sir  Joshua  on  Newmarket  Heath 
before  the  great  match. 

Filho  is  described  as  16  hands,  fine-tempered,  leggy,  and  near- 
sighted, and  he  is  depicted  with  coarse  hocks,  which  a  noted 
veterinary  surgeon  once  told  Mr.  Darby  were  inherited  in  the  shape 
of  spavins  by  nearly  all  his  stock,  which  in  those  times  meant  good 


business  for  the  firing  irons.  Filho's  St.  Leger  was  a  remarkable  one, 
from  the  fact  that  at  the  close  of  the  betting  the  first  four  horses 
were  exactly  placed.  Croft  was  very  confident  of  winning,  and  his 
owner.  Sir  William  Maxwell,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  spirits 
smashed  all  the  pier  glasses  at  the  "  Reindeer,"  and  "longed  in  his 
rapture  for  more."  An  amusing  story  is  also  related  about  the  colt's 
name,  which  was  a  puzzler  to  two  youths,  one  of  whom  backed 
Filler,  and  the  other  Pewter,  and  when  the  winner's  name  was 
shouted  there  ensued  a  battle  royal,  each  claiming  to  have  won,  until 
the  police  interfered  and  explained. 

Before  the  match  with  Sir  Joshua,  Croft,  owing  to  ill- health, 
asked  John   Scott  to  take  charge  of  the  Northern  crack,  and  the 

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latter,  true  to  his  methods,  wanted  to  run  the  horse  rather  above 
himself.  Unfortunately  Croft,  when  he  came  to  Newmarket, 
thought  the  colt  had  not  done  enough  work,  and  sent  him  along 
again,  which,  as  John  remarked,  **  cooked  him."  The  horse  lost 
some  lengths  at  the  start  by  rearing  up,  and  could  never  quite 
catch  Sir  Joshua ;  but  the  match  was  the  making  of  Scott,  as 
Mr.  Houldsworth  bought  Filho  for  3,000  guineas,  and  took  the 
young  trainer  with  him  to  Mansfield. 

The  first  horse  that  Herring  painted  from  life  was  Jack  Spigot, 
winner  of  the  St.  Leger  in  1821.  He  was  a  grand  foal,  but  his  dam 
took  to  galloping  in  the  paddock,  so  Mr.  Powlett  got  a  tenant  to 
allow  his  mare  to  bring  up  the  colt,  and  wanted  to  christen  it 
"Jack  Faucet,"  after  the  farmer.  The  latter  objected,  however, 
on  the  ground  that  it  was  certain  to  win  the  Leger.  **Well, 
John,"  said  Mr.  Powlett,  "  a  Faucet's  nothing  without  a  Spigot,"  so 
Jack  Spigot  the  colt  became.  After  the  race  the  colt  took  such  a 
dislike  to  Bill  Scott  that  he  would  never  let  him  come  near  him  again, 
and  went  quite  mad  even  if  he  heard  his  voice.  The  first  ten  horses 
that  Herring  painted,  from  Filho  to  Jerry,  in  1824,  were  published  by 
Sheardown  &  Son,  of  Doncaster,  and  the  artist  is  supposed  to 
have  superintended  the  colouring.  Only  a  limited  number  were 
printed  for  subscribers,  and  they  were  brought  out  in  atlas  folio, 
engraved  by  Sutherland. 

From  1825  Herring  painted  the  winners  of  the  Derby  and 
St.  Leger  for  Fuller  &  Son,  who  pubHshed  them  each  year  down  to 
the  middle  of  the  forties.  The  subscribers'  prints  have  a  Miner\'as 
head  stamped  on  the  margin.  Herring  also  painted  a  series  of  stud 
horses,  Lord  Egremont's  Gohanna  being  the  first ;  and  a  few  Oaks 
winners  by  the  same  artist  were  published  by  Moore.  At  a  later 
period  Fores  published  some  prints  of  racers  and  stud  horses. 

Unfortunately,  many  of  the  old  prints  have  lost  some  of  their 
value  by  having  been  mounted  on  linen  and  varnished  in  the  days 
when  glass,  I  believe,  was  expensive. 

Herring  never  flattered  his  horses,  and,  if  anything,  rather 
exaggerated  their  faults.  In  his  pictures.  Barefoot  and  Ebor  are 
too  long  in  the  back  ;  Reveller  looks  more  the  type  of  a  harness 
horse;  Launcelot,  Bill  Scott  up,  with  a  strong  double  bridle,  is 
more  the  style  of  a  Leicestershire  weight-carrier  than  a  St.  Leger 
winner.  This  horse  had  enormous  speed,  and  pulled  even  harder 
than  his  brother  Touchstone,  with  his  head  right  into  bis  chest,  and 
hardly  anyone  could  hold  him.  Jerry  and  Matilda  resemble  polo 
ponies ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  latter  was  only  14.1^  when  she 
was  taken  up  as  a  yearling.  John  Day  described  her  when  first 
foaled  as  looking  **  about  the  size  of  a  buck  rabbit,  with  a  black-list 

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stripe  down  its  back."     She  was  the  first  of  Mr.  Petre's  memorable 
St.  Leger  trio. 

Lord  Jersey  watched  Herring  painting  Bay  Middleton's  portrait, 
and  remarked  on  the  length  of  the  horse's  head.  **  Yes,  my  lord," 
replied  Herring,  "  if  he  hadn't  had  so  long  a  head,  you  would  not 
have  had  so  long  a  horse."  In  Bay  Middleton  three  heads  exactly 
measured  his  length,  and  according  to  this  artist  the  rule  of  three 
heads  worked  out  99  times  out  of  100;  but  as  far  as  I  can  remember 
from  my  student  days  in  Paris,  a  horse's  length  generally  worked  out 
at  about  2 J  heads,  and  a  well-made  horse  would  stand  in  a  square, 


i.e.  equal  height  and  length.  Perhaps  of  all  his  portraits  his  chef 
d*ceuvre  is  The  Duchess,  a  beautiful  bay  mare  with  black  points. 
Ben  Smith  is  up  in  Sir  B.  Graham's  colours — yellow,  blue  sleeves, 
blue  and  yellow  striped  cap.  This  mare  won  the  St.  Leger  in  1816. 
Almost  equally  fine  are  some  of  his  Derby  winners,  and  Queen  of 
Trumps  and  Crucifix,  the  latter  described  as  very  narrow  in  the 
chest,  and  suffering  perpetually  from  speedy  cut.  The  harlequin 
colours  of  Mr.  Watts  were  frequently  to  the  fore;  amongst  others 
he  owned  Altisidore,  Blacklock,  Barefoot,  and  Rockingham. 

One    of   the  rarest   coloured  mezzotints  is   of  the   celebrated 
Doctor  Syntax,  who  won  for  his  owner,  Mr.  Riddell,  over  twenty 

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^old  cups  and  plates.  The  "  Doctor,"  as  they  called  him  in  the 
North,  was  barely  15  h.,  mouse-coloured,  with  such  a  velvety  coat 
that  people  used  to  say  he  had  no  hair  except  on  his  mane  and  tail. 
A  slight  canter  would  bring  out  the  veins  in  a  network.  From  a 
two-year-old  he  never  would  stand  the  touch  of  whip  or  spur,  but 
Bob  Johnson  could  get  every  ounce  out  of  him  by  merely  stroking 
and  talking  to  him.  Like  his  daughter  Beeswing,  he  did  not  care 
to  carry  more  than  8  st.  11  lb.  He  won  the  Gold  Cup  at  Preston 
for  seven  years  in  succession,  and  the  Guild  made  so  certain  that  he 
would  win  it  the  eighth  time  that  they  had  prepared  gilt  shoes  and 


a  procession  in  his  honour.     Unluckily  he  was  only  able  to  divide 
Reveller  and  Jack  Spigot. 

Bill  Scott  bought  Sir  Tatton  Sykes  as  a  yearling  for  jf  100,  and 
the  colt  was  described  as  one  of  the  ugliest  and  coarsest  little 
creatures  that  ever  breathed  Yorkshire  air.  On  the  real  Sir  Tatton 
coming  over  to  inspect  him,  he  said:  "  Dear  me,  Mr.  Scott;  how 
his  head  grows  !  '*  Bill  fervently  asked  him  to  "  Look  at  his  hocks! 
these  will  take  him  up  the  hill  on  the  Surrey  side !  "  The  colt  was 
trained  by  his  father  and  William  Gates,  and  despite  the  latter's 
recollections  of  Lottery  he  said  he  had  never  ridden  anything  like 
him.  Of  course  he  should  have  won  the  Derby,  but  Scott  lost  his 
temper,  and,  while  he  was  swearing  at  the  starter,  the  other  horses 
slipped  away  before  he  realised  it.     He  rode  him  later  to  victory 

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in  the  St.  Leger,  but  he  was  so  weak  from  wasting  that  half-way 
up  the  distance  he  dropped  forward  on  to  his  neck  fairly  exhausted, 
and  it  was  a  wonder  that  the  colt,  who  wanted  plenty  of  riding, 
got  home  at  all.  After  the  race  he  made  an  appointment  with 
Mr.  Herring  to  be  painted  at  **  five  to-morrow  morning,  sir." 

Mr.  Robertson  was,  I  think,  unique  in  one  respect,  for  the ^rs^ 
horse  he  ever  owned,  Little  Wonder,  won  the  Derby  in  1840,  a  rank 
outsider.  Macdonald  was  up,  and  Bill  Scott,  who  had  backed 
his  own  mount  heavily,  called  out  in  the  race:  *' One  hundred  to 


Stop  him,  Mac !  *'  But  the  latter  only  replied :  **  It  is  too  late 
now,  Mr.  Scott;  you  should  have  spoken  before." 

These  illustrations  are  copied  from  some  of  the  old  prints  that 
are  occasionally  passing  through  Mr.  Darby's  hands.  Unfortunately 
they  give  no  idea  of  the  colouring,  which  in  the  originals  is  wonder- 
fully fine  and  clear  and  very  true  to  detail ;  the  tints  are  a  harmony 
in  tone,  mellowed  with  age,  whereas  the  reproductions  are  crude 
in  colour,  and  of  course  the  old  plates  are  very  much  worn,  and  the 
reproductions  have  not  the  same  finished  detail. 

The  old  coloured  prints  in  good  preservation  are  worth  from 
-£7  to  £\o  each,  and  the  uncoloured  prints  from  £'^  to  ;f 4 ;  this,  of 
course,  means  on  Whatman's  paper  with  watermark  and  date, 
untrimmed  margins  and  full  reading  titles. 

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BY    EDMUND    F.    T.    BENNETT 

There  are  many  kinds  of  fishing  stories,  and  people  who  do  not 
fish  are  always  ready  to  believe  none  of  them.  For  instance,  an 
angler  hooks  a  perch  by  the  eye,  and  catches  the  eye  only,  but  on 
casting  into  the  same  place  with  this  very  eye  as  a  bait  he  actually 
catches  the  fish  with  its  own  eye.  Now  comes  the  cross-questioning. 
Where  did  the  worm  which  was  on  the  hook  go  ?  Why  did  the  fish 
seize  a  bait  the  like  of  which  it  could  never  have  seen  before,  and 
could  only  see  now  with  its  one  remaining  eye  ?  Fishermen,  how- 
ever, get  beyond  disbelief  in  anything,  for  they  see  so  many  un- 
accountable things  that  they  are  surprised  at  nothing.  Some  of  the 
old  fishing  stories  are  a  bit  difficult,  and  we  should  like  to  have  more 
proof  that  a  pike  has  been  known  to  catch  a  horse  by  the  nose 
when  drinking  near  its  holt.  But  let  even  the  unbelieving  modern 
take  a  header  into  an  out-of-the-way  pond  in  which  he  has  seen  the 
big  pike,  and  perhaps  he  will  not  feel  quite  so  much  at  his  ease  as  if 
he  had  not  seen  that  same  fish.  Fishermen  are  patient  people,  and 
listen  to  stories  and  theories  about  fish  and  fishing  which  do  not 
always  appear  to  the  layman  as  probable  or  possible.  As  ever)' 
fisherman  is  ready  with  stories  and  theories,  the  following  may  be  of 
some  value  to  the  stock  of  information  which  yearly  accumulates  on 
the  subject. 

At  Clifton   Mill,   near  Rugby,  on  a  hot  summer  day,    I   was 
looking  into  a  pool  with  some  schoolfellows,  when  a  small  jack  of 

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half  a  pound  or  so  dashed  down  stream,  and  one  of  my  friends  shot 

a  stone  with  his  tweaker  and  killed  the  fish.     This  pool  was  in  an 

overflow  of  the   mill  dam,  and  consequently  well  below  where  we 

were  standing  ;  the  fish  was  darting  through  the  shallow  at  the  end 

when  the  stone  struck  the  water,  and  at  that  instant  it  turned  belly 

1  up  and  was  carried  on  by  its  impetus,  though  dead,  for  a  few  yards. 

;  There  was  no  mark  whatever  on  the  jack,  so  the  concussion  of  the 

^  Stone  on  the  water  was  transmitted  directly  to  the  fish  and  killed  it. 

This  seems  an  improbable  story,  but  if  anyone  does  not  believe  it 

l'  let  him  get  a  friend  to  slap  the  water  above  his  head  with  an  oar, 

when  he  is  coming  up  after  a  dive,  and  is  about  two  feet  from  the 

t  surface,  and  he  will  practically  experience  what  a  friend  of  mine  did 

L  from  the  thoughtless  action  of  another  man,  and  be  nearly  stunned 

by  the  blow,  or  perhaps  be  less  lucky  and  be  quite  stunned. 

On  two  occasions  I  have  seen  a  fish  swim  at  full  speed  high  and 
dry  on  to  the  land.  The  first  was  when  fishing  in  a  curious  little 
out-of-the-way  loch  near  Forres.  I  had  caught  a  few  trout,  and 
was  surprised  at  the  action  of  one  near  where  my  fly  touched  the 
water.  This  fish  was  swimming  quickly  round  and  round  on  the 
surface,  and  then  made  straight  for  where  I  was  standing  and  ran 
itself  up  on  to  the  sand  at  my  feet.  I  saw  a  peculiar  trembUng  of 
its  side,  and  was  immediately  reminded  of  a  trout  I  had  caught  in 
Yorkshire  some  years  before,  which  I  had  sent  to  London  for 
examination.  So  I  killed  this  fish  at  once  and  cut  it  open ;  and 
there  sure  enough  were  the  enlarged  pyloric  appendages,  as  Frank 
Buckland  called  them ;  but  to  my  eye,  as  in  the  Yorkshire  fish,  they 
seemed  to  be  maggots  feeding  on  the  alimentary  canal  of  the  fish, 
and  thriving  greatly  on  their  diet. 

But  I  must  hark  back  to  this  Yorkshire  trout.  My  brother 
and  I  went  out  to  fish  the  Codbeck,  near  Thirsk,  but  found  the 
stream  in  full  flood,  and  water  well  out  on  the  fields.  Fishing  being 
impossible,  we  set  out  to  walk  home,  and  when  passing  a  narrow 
road-ditch  I  noticed  the  wave  of  something  going  through  the  water. 
Plunging  my  net  in,  a  trout  of  about  three-quarters  of  a  pound  was 
caught,  and  as  I  was  about  to  return  the  fish  to  the  water  I  noticed 
a  peculiar  tremor  passing  along  its  sides.  Both  of  us  were  so  struck 
by  the  phenomenon  that  I  cut  the  trout  open  and  decided  to  send 
the  creature  at  once  to  the  best  authority  on  fish,  from  whom  I 
received  the  explanation  given  above.  Among  all  the  trout  I  have 
caught  these  two  instances  of  a  peculiar  tremor  in  the  sides  are 
the  only  ones  I  have  ever  noticed,  but  doubtless  others  have  been 

When  the  Dovey,  below  Machynlleth,  a  silvery  white- 
trout  rushed  ashore  to  mv  feet.     The  action  of  this  fish  was  entirely 

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different  from  that  of  the  Forres  brown  trout,  but  I  thought  that 
this  was  surely  another  case  of  Frank  Buckland's  theory.  I  found, 
however,  that  this  fresh-run  sea-trout  was  covered  with  lice,  and 
that  instead  of  throwing  itself  out  of  the  water  with  that  whirring 
noise  which  is  so  often  heard,  and  splashing  in  again,  it  had  been 
goaded  to  the  madness  of  suicide  ashore. 

Scotch  worm  fishermen  fish  for  trout  in  a  way  that  would 
horrify  those  who  are  accustomed  persistently  to  look  upon  this 
fish  as  very  shy  of  men.  I  saw  a  party  of  three  miners  fishing 
a  small  burn,  splashing  about,  and  apparently  taking  no  precautions 
whatever  either  to  hide  themselves  or  avoid  frightening  the  fish. 
Each  man  would  fish  quickly  down  stream  till  he  caught  up  his 
friend,  then  walk  past  him  and  splash  into  the  river  a  few  yards 
below.  Yet  they  all  caught  trout.  The  passage  of  these  anglers 
certainly  had  the  effect  of  frightening  the  fish  for  a  time,  but  I  had 
some  sport  myself  soon  after  they  were  gone,  the  river  being  in  good 
order  for  the  fly.  Now  the  question  comes.  How  long  do  trout  take 
to  recover  from  such  a  rough  visit  ?  This  is  by  no  means  easy  to 
answer,  but  it  does  seem  probable  that  rough  fishing  does  not 
necessarily  spoil  the  chance  of  finer  fishing  being  successful ;  even 
on  the  clear  southern  rivers  trout  become  accustomed  to  the  move- 
ments of  fishermen,  and  quickly  recover  their  appetites,  perhaps 
after  one  of  their  number  has  been  making  a  great  fuss  to  get  free 
from  the  hook  fast  fixed  in  its  jaw. 

Trout  do  not  swim  about  in  shoals,  and  consequently  show  an 
individuality  which  is  not  seen  among  those  fish  which  do  move  about 
in  shoals.  Every  trout  seems  to  be  directly  affected  by  its  surround- 
ings, so  a  dark-coloured  one  will  become  light  if  lying  on  a  bright 
gravelly  bottom,  and  again  become  dark  if  it  takes  up  its  station  in 
a  dark  place.  The  trout,  too,  will  feed  in  a  different  way  in  each 
place  it  finds  itself  in,  simply  because  its  food  is  brought  to  it  in  a 
variety  of  ways.  This  being  so,  fishermen  must  fish  for  this  most 
excellent  creature  in  a  variety  of  ways.  It  is  most  amusing  to  hear 
the  recipes  anglers  have  for  catching  trout,  but  the  most  wonderful 
development  of  fly-fishing  is  the  prohibition  of  the  sunken  fly  on 
some  waters.  Of  course  a  club  is  at  liberty  to  make  any  rules  it 
pleases,  but  when  all  its  members  are  compelled  to  fish  in  exactly 
the  same  way  fishing  must  lose  a  great  deal  of  its  interest,  and 
tend  to  become  a  game  of  skill  regulated  by  rules.  Let  us  hope 
that  the  man  with  the  whistle  will  not  appear  on  the  scene,  and 
further  interfere  with  that  freedom  from  supervision  which  to  the 
angler  is  an  important  part  of  his  recreation. 

Trout  lie  in  some  positions  where  a  dry  fly  is  quite  useless,  and 
in  others  where  the  same  must  be  said  of  the  sunken  fly,  and  again 

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the  fish  will  prefer  the  dry  to  the  sunken  on  one  day,  and  the  oppo- 
site on  another.  All  this  has  been  noticed  time  after  time  by  fly- 
fishers,  and  we  seem  to  be  approaching  a  period  when  an  effort  will 
be  made  to  treat  our  highly  civilised  rivers  in  such  a  way  that 
fishing  on  them  will  require  a  greater  amount  of  observation  than  is 
now  demanded,  but  is  only  necessary  in  those  waters  where  nature 
has  been  left  very  much  to  itself. 

Weed-cutting  has  been  reduced  to  a  science,  for  clearing  an 
overgrown  river  is  as  necessary  as  clearing  a  field  of  its  crops. 
There  is,  however,  one  notable  difference  in  the  two  cases,  for  the 
field's  first  duty  is  to  produce  crops,  and  the  river's  to  produce  fish. 
If  we  treated  fields  so  that  they  would  harbour  game  our  present 
system  of  farming  would  have  to  be  entirely  altered ;  but  rivers 
should  be  so  dealt  with  that  fish  could  find  not  only  safe  harbour- 
age, but  food  produced  in  abundance  naturally.  We  might  even 
hope  that  the  stock  of  fish  would  be  kept  up  without  depending  so 
much  on  artificial  means  for  the  supply. 

Such  treatment  would  upset  many  pet  schemes  which  are  now 
in  operation,  for  instead  of  rivers  being  continually  worried  by 
manual  labour,  pools  and  shallows  might  be  formed  by  the  action  of 
the  water  itself  directed  by  movable  obstructions. 

Let  us  suppose  that  a  deep  pool  has  a  shallow  below  it  which 
has  so  silted  up  that  there  is  no  lie  for  fish.  It  is  evident  that  a 
dam  placed  across  the  shallow  with  an  opening  in  the  middle  would 
quickly  scour  out  a  channel  for  fish  to  lie  in,  and  the  expense  of 
such  treatment  would  be  very  small  compared  with  the  laborious 
and  often  ineffectual  methods  now  in  vogue. 

Weed-cutting  in  the  actual  channel  of  a  river  should  be  avoided 
as  much  as  possible,  and  intelligent  direction  of  the  water  itself  will 
prevent  that  overgrowth  which  so  often  covers  the  entire  bed  of  the 
stream.  Sluggish  streams  cannot  be  dealt  with  in  this  way,  because 
it  is  impossible  to  get  the  necessary  rush  of  water  to  scour  the  bed, 
and  clearing  away  weeds  must  be  done  by  manual  labour. 

The  action  of  trout  in  a  river  which  is  not  too  much  improved 
always  appears  to  be  different  from  that  of  fish  which  are  too  much 
looked  after  and  too  much  protected.  Fish  seem  to  deteriorate  if 
not  hunted,  and  when  the  otter,  heron,  and  pike  are  never  seen  on  a 
stream  care  should  be  taken  that  the  angler's  difficulties  be  not 
so  minimised  that  the  trout  become  tame,  and  every  kind  of  fish 
refuge  should  be  saved. 

Some  of  the  wildest  trout  I  have  ever  caught  have  been  in  a 
river  perpetually  fished  in  every  sort  of  way  by  crowds  of  anglers. 
These  fish  had  become  so  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  men  that  they 
seemed  to  have  a  sort  of  friendly  disregard  for  their  presence,  and 

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would  rise  in  a  most  aggravating  way  all  round  one's  fly  and  never 
touch  it.  When  a  spate  came  on  the  workmen  in  the  town  appeared 
in  force,  and  caught  enough  trout  to  make  one  think  the  river  must 
have  suffered  as  a  sporting  ground.  But  not  a  bit  of  it ;  there  were 
lots  offish  always  rising  when  the  water  went  down,  and  the  only 
way  I  can  account  for  this  is  that  small  trout  were  washed  down 
from  the  upper  reaches,  and  quickly  became  large  fish  in  the  more 
roomy  waters  in  which  they  found  themselves,  so  when  a  trout  was 
caught  another  was  ready  to  take  its  place. 

Close  to  the  town  were  many  good  trout,  and  most  anglers  had 
a  try  for  them  before  they  started  seriously  to  fish,  because  trying 
for  these  hardly  seemed  a  serious  matter,  as  they  would  so  seldom 
take  one's  fly.     One  blazing  hot  day  as  I  passed  along,  intending  to 
fish  a  mile  or  so  from  the  town,  1  saw  some  of  these  fine  fellows  feed- 
ing steadily.     I  could  not  pass  them  as  I  meant  to  do,  but  set  to 
work  on  them  at  first  in  my  usual  unserious  mood.     One  fish  at  last 
appeared  catchable.     My  first  cast  fell  a  little  too  near  him,  and  the 
dry  fly  only  attracted  his  attention  for  a  moment.     The  next  cast, 
however,  was  rightly  judged,  for  the  fly  settled  on  the  water  at  the 
proper  distance  above  him  and  slowly  drifted  down.     There  was  the 
quiet  rise  without  splash,  and  the  fly  disappeared  between  the  white 
jaws  as  the  fish  sank  to  its  station.     It  was  interesting  to  observe 
that  this  highly-educated  fish  did  not  realise  that  the  fly  had  a  hook 
in  it,  but  shook  its  head  to  rid  itself  of  something  it  did  not  want. 
Well,  this  was  a  pounder,  and  five  others  of  about  the  same  size,  or 
over,  made  up  a  very  good  morning's  basket.     This  part  of  the  river 
was  a  long  dam,  except  in    floods   it  was  very  slow-running,  and 
there  was  a  pleasant  feeling  of  triumph  in  catching  fish  all  along  this 
reach,  because  they  were  a  very  clever  company.     Even  a  dry  fly  had 
no  charms  for  them  sometimes,  and  one  day  every  fish  seemed  to  be 
rising,  but  the  most  beautifully  placed  fly  was  disregarded.     When 
this  happens,  as  it  too  often  does  for  the  fisherman,  the  question  is, 
What  is  to  be  done  to  catch  fish  ? 

The  best  authorities  have  given  their  views  on  what  a  trout 
thinks  about ;  but  the  colour  theorist,  and  the  other  man,  are  both 
proved  to  be  wrong  on  some  days,  and  notably  on  a  day  when 
nothing  will  tempt  fish  to  take  one's  fly.  Two  of  us  toiled  all  day 
among  rising  trout,  and  not  merely  rising,  but  feeding ;  we  tried 
every  imaginable  fly  in  every  possible  way,  but  caught  none  until 
the  very  end  of  the  day.  Now,  this  trout  was  feeding  steadily,  as  so 
many  others  were,  and  the  flies  were  taken  down  like  clockwork. 
Three  flies  went  past  it,  one  artificial,  but  they  all  looked  the  same  on 
the  water,  and  yet  the  natural  flies  on  each  side  of  the  sham  one  were 
taken.     Another  and  another  try  with  the  same  fly;  again  the  sham 

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and  the  natural  floated  down  ;   the  natural  disappeared,  and  at  last 

the  artificial,  and  the  trout  was  caught.     But  what  induced  this  same 

fish  time  after  time  to  refuse  the  sham,  and  at  last  take  it,  under 

precisely  the  same  conditions,  who  shall   say  ?     It  may  have  been 

that  the  slightest  tremble  was  imparted  to  the  successful  cast,  which 

at  last  deceived  the  fish ;  but  never  was  there  a  more  disappointing 

day  for  an  angler,  because  the  river  seemed  to  be  alive  with  trout 

gone  mad  for  food. 

The  wild  man's  instinct  sometimes  directs  the  fisherman  to  use 
the  only  possible  fly  in  his  book,  and  I  had  that  fly  one  day,  but  have 
no  sort  of  explanation  except  this  as  to  why  I  put  it  on.  It  was  a 
hideous  big  thing,  made  by  a  little  boy  out  of  a  buff*  hen's  hackle; 
the  very  sight  of  it  ought  to  have  frightened  away  all  the  trout  in  the 
clear  low  summer  water;  and  yet  it  was  the  right  thing  to  catch  fish 
with,  for  the  perfectly  tied  flies  of  all  kinds  had  done  nothing.  An- 
other hideous  fly  I  remember  using  as  a  boy  in  Ireland,  tied  by  a 
man  who  perhaps  had  never  tied  a  fly  before.  I  saw  the  white  duck's 
feather  laid  on  to  the  green-silk-covered  hook,  and  because  its  set 
did  not  please  the  tier  the  feather  was  made  fast  to  the  hook,  near 
the  bend  ;   but  to  my  great  joy  it  got  me  a  good  trout. 

A  wise  fisherman  once  told  me  that  he  had  carefully  noted  the 
powers  of  wet  and  dry  fly,  and  on  his  river  he  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  wet  and  dry  man  would  catch  about  the  same  number 
of  fish  in  the  season.  We  know  that  trout  will  refuse  to  be  caught 
when  feeding  on  some  particular  fly,  even  though  the  imitation  is  to 
our  eyes  perfect ;  but  fish  even  at  such  a  time  will  take  almost  any 
fly  if  thrown  on  to  the  opposite  bank,  and  dropped  from  there  into 
the  stream,  for  the  instant  it  touches  the  water  it  is  seized.  One 
such  case  among  many  I  remember  at  Bakewell,  and  when  shaking 
backwards  and  forwards  in  a  small  pool  at  the  side  the  fish  I 
had  thus  caught,  quantities  of  apple-green  flies  were  washed  out 
of  its  gills,  but  the  fly  which  caught  it  was  in  no  way  like 

Many  anglers  talk  of  fish  being  put  down  for  the  day,  or  for  half 
an  hour,  and  so  on,  but  this  seems  to  be  only  a  fancy  which  has  been 
passed  on  from  one  man  to  another,  and  believed  to  be  a  fact.    Now 
let  no  fisherman  think  a  trout  is  put  down  for  any  length  of  time,  for 
patience  will  soon  show  that  the  fish  very  quickly  recovers  from 
fright,  and  is  ready  to  be  tried  for  again.     Of  course  the  creature 
may  be  so  terrified  that  it  will  dash  away,  and  possibly  take  up  a  new 
station  for  a  time,  but  generally  speaking  it  will  be  seen  quietly  re- 
turning to  its  favourite  haunt,  and  if  properly  fished  for  be  caught  at 
last.     There  are  always  some  celebrated  trout  in  every  river  which 
can  only  be  caught  either  by  accident  or  by  some  very  clever  fishing. 

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To  most,  however,  it  is  a  waste  of  time  to  set  to  work  to  catch 
one  particular  fish,  but  from  a  naturalist's  point  of  view  the  time  is 
well  spent,  for  the  way  a  trout  really  feeds  can  only  be  found  out  by 
patient  watching. 

In  a  perfectly  still  mill-dam  the  trout  cruises  about,  never  going 
very  far  from  some  favourite  hiding  place,  and  if  you  stand  perfectly 
still  you  are  soon  treated  as  some  object  from  which  no  danger  is  to 
be  apprehended.  Mark  the  course  the  fish  takes,  and  you  wuU  get 
your  chance  to  lay  your  dry  fly  in  its  way  when  its  head  is  turned 
from  you,  or  when  it  is  rising  at  a  natural  floating  fly.  In  such 
water  the  greatest  delicacy  of  casting  is  required,  and  fish  may  be 
made  shy  very  easily  by  any  sort  of  roughness,  and  take  longer  to 
recover  their  spirits  than  in  any  other  sort  of  place.  If  you  do  hook 
one  drag  him  away  at  once  from  his  feeding  ground,  for  there  is  sure 
to  be  another  not  far  off",  and  get  him  into  your  basket  as  soon  as 

A  trout  feeding  in  a  stream  between  two  branches  may  be  fished 
for  for  any  length  of  time,  and  if  the  one  cast  that  can  kill  him  be 
made  he  is  pretty  sure  not  to  refuse.  I  got  two  trout  so  protected 
one  day  after  laying  siege  to  their  strongholds  for  a  very  long  time. 
Bungled  casts  did  not  frighten  either  of  them,  but  in  each  case  the 
one  right  cast  got  the  fish. 

There  was  one  pool  in  a  certain  trout  stream  out  of  which  I 
could  not  take  a  trout  either  by  up  or  down  stream  fishing,  and 
many  was  the  day  that  I  tried  to  do  so.  The  bank  behind  one  was 
high  and  had  trees  on  it,  and  the  bank  in  front  was  also  well  wooded. 
The  only  way  to  cast  seemed  to  be  almost  up  or  down  stream,  but 
neither  way  was  any  good.  One  day  I  sat  down  directly  op|x>site 
the  rising  fish,  and  no  doubt  the  bank  behind  me  prevented  the  trout 
from  being  alarmed  at  my  presence.  The  pool  was  perhaps  eight 
feet  deep  where  the  rapid  into  it  ended,  and  was  not  more  than 
fifteen  yards  across.  I  found  it  possible  to  wade  out  two  or  three 
yards,  and  to  continue  my  observations.  The  trout  were  still  rising, 
sometimes  less  than  the  length  of  my  rod  away.  I  now  let  them  get 
accustomed  to  the  rod  over  the  stream,  but  the  branches  of  the  trees 
made  the  rod  appear  not  very  unnatural,  1  suppose,  to  the  fish.  With 
great  care  I  tossed  a  single  dry  fly  on  to  the  water,  and  at  once  got 
one  of  these  fish.  I  always  fished  this  pool  afterwards  standing  in  it 
quite  near  the  rising  fish,  which  at  first  sight  seemed  to  be  the  most 
impossible  place  for  sport  of  any  kind. 

It  would  be  possible  to  describe  many  other  places  and  the 
various  ways  in  which  trout  feed  in  them,  but  long  study  of  these 
fish  has  allowed  me  to  form  a  few  conclusions  about  artificial  flies, 
their  colour  and  their  shape. 

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I  am  sure  it  is  much  more  difficult  to  choose  the  right  fly  to 
use  if  it  is   sunk,  than  if  it  is  floated.     You  will  go  to  a  river  and 
show  your  dry  fly  to  a  local  man,  and  he  will  tell  you  it  is  no  use 
in  that  water.     Don't  mind  him,  for  if  you  offer  a  floating  fly  well, 
of  almost  any  shape,  colour,  or  size,  to  a  feeding  trout  it  will  at 
least  dash  at  it.     If  on  the  other  hand  you  are  a  wet  fly  man,  and 
a  down  stream  fisherman,  listen  to  the  local  authority,  for  he  is 
pretty  sure  to  know  a  thing  or  two  about  his  river.     I  am  con- 
strained to  think  that  a  trout  cares  very  much  about  the  size  and 
colour  of  a  fly  under  water,  but  cannot  trouble  itself  to  study  the 
floating  one  in  the  same  way.     You  may  go  to  a  dry  fly  river  in  the 
south   of  England   and   have   the  best   of  sport   by  floating  pure 
Scotch,  Irish,   or  Welsh  flies,  but  it  is  quite  probable  that  if  you 
sink  these  same  flies  you  will  not  have  sport,  whereas  if  you  safik, 
say,  a  Derbyshire  pink  and  white  bumble  you  would  catch  fish. 

But  after  all  can  we  do  better  than  the  Japanese  man,  who 
will  stand  on  a  stone  over  a  pool,  and  make  his  fly  flit  about  in 
the  air,  touching  the  water  here,  and  then  there,  until  the  fish  is 
induced  to  believe  that  a  good  rise  of  fly  is  going  on  ?  Try  this 
way  and  every  way,  and  still  there  are  other  ways  to  fish  by  float- 
ing or  sinking  your  fly,  and  plenty  still  to  find  out,  not  only  in 
fly-tying  but  in  rod-making,  not  only  in  up  and  down  stream 
casting,  but  in  cross  stream  casting  also. 

And  lastly  we  have  to  find  out  how  to  make  rivers  keep  them- 
selves clean,  how  to  help  fish  to  increase  naturally,  and  how  to 
encourage  a  natural  supply  of  food  for  our  spotted  friends.  Surely 
fishing  offers  more  than  most  sports  in  the  way  of  the  best  health- 
giving  recreation,  and  every  possible  effort  should  be  made  to 
protect  our  rivers,  and  see  that  their  management  is  in  competent 
hands.  As  for  fishermen  and  how  to  manage  them,  being  myself 
one,  I  can  only  say  **  Aweel,''  which  may  mean  a  great  deal  or  very 
little,  so  no  opinion  need  be  given. 

NO.  cxxviil.    VOL.  xxn.— March  1906 

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I.   AT    THB    START 


BY    C.    E.    THOMAS 

It  is  not  a  difficult  matter  to  trace  the  history  of  Lacrosse  as  a 
recreation  of  the  pale-faces,  but  the  Indian  genius  who  first  evolved 
the  pastime  from  which  has  grown  the  most  graceful  of  modern  ball 
games  remains  unhonoured  by  English  players.  Perhaps  he  figures 
in  the  folk-tales  of  the  Sioux,  the  Chippeways,  or  some  other  tribe 
who  played  the  game,  but  to  us  he  is  merely  an  object  of  such  in- 
definite worship  as  is  the  equally  bold  originator  of  rowing,  to  whom 
Mr.  R.  H.  Forster,  a  water-poet,  pays  tribute  : — 

But  worthy  of  honour  was  he,  because 
He  was  father  of  rowing,  whoever  he  was. 

In  lacrosse,  as  in  rowing,  the  prehistoric  effort  was  particularly 
notable,  for  a  new  line  was  struck  out.  The  first  man  to  navigate  a 
stream  by  means  of  a  bundle  of  reeds  was  boldly  original.  So  was 
the  man  who  soared  above  the  primeval  instinct  to  obtain  recreation 
by  kicking  an  enemy's  head  about  (presumed  in  some  quarters  to  be 
the  origin  of  football)  or  of  hitting  something  inanimate  with  a  club 
— whence  we  have  cricket,  hockey,  and  golf.  He  caught  something 
and  carried  it  until  dispossessed ;  and,  considering  that  the  process 
of  dispossession  is  sometimes  painful  even  in  these  enlightened  days, 

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the  early  efifort  must  have  left  its  marks  on  the  devotees  of  the  game 
in  the  "  High  and  Far  Off  times."  So  much  so  that  a  process  of 
punning  deduction  may  lead  us  to  believe  that  the  father  of  lacrosse 
came  from  the  Chippeway  tribe. 

Whatever  the  actual  origin,  certain  it  is  that  lacrosse  started 
with  the  Indians,  that  the  tribal  contests  were  suggestive  of  warfare 
rather  than  of  sport,  that  teams  were  unlimited  in  numbers,  that  the 
field  of  play  was  anything  up  to  a  mile  in  length,  and  that  the 
squaws  had  an  inconvenient  habit  of  switching  the  players  as  an 
inducement  not  to  bold'  the  ball  too  long,  but  to  pass  hard  slnd 

But  we  have  improved  all  these  things,  and  little  remains  of  the 


original  Indian  game,  save  the  weird  war-cries  some  teams  consider 
necessary  when  calling  for  a  pass.  There  is  no  warfare  now,  despite 
the  corfctention  of  scoffers  from  other  games  who  witness  a  hard- 
checkinig  match  when  no  referee  is  present,  and  pretend  that  the 
main  object  of  lacrosse  is  to  hit  the  man  who  has  the  ball  some- 
where, preferably  on  the  head.  We  have  limited  the  field  of  play, 
although  wanderings  on  the  wing  and  behind  goal  are  not  unknown 
when  the  comfort  of  players  of  games  on  adjoining  pitches  is  not 
interfered  with.  The  squaws,  too,  merely  sit  in  pavilions  and 
applaud,  and  the  switching  is  done  by  the  Press,  the  members  of 

Y  2 

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which,  however,  are  lenient  to  our  faults,  for  the  claims  of  a  fasci- 
nating amateur  pastime  pale  to  insignificance  in  this  country  before 
those  of  a  professional  sport  which  attracts  big  gates. 

In  Canada  the  game  was  first  played  by  the  whites  in  the  '50's, 
and  not  being  above  receiving  lessons  from  all  blacks,  the  Canadians 
took  lacrosse  to  their  hearts  until  it  became  the  national  pastime, 
and  developed  professionalism  with  the  glorious  attributes  apper- 
taining thereto. 

The  celebration  of  the  twenty-first  anniversary  of  the  West 
London  Club  this  year  reminds  us  that  lacrosse  has  had  plenty  of 


time  to  take  root  in  this  country,  where  it  was  first  introduced  in 
the  *7o's. 

The  plant  is  full  of  life,  although  its  growth  has  not  been  rapid. 
The  sturdiest  branch  is  in  the  Manchester  district ;  Lancashire  and 
Cheshire  are  the  county  flowers,  and  there  is  a  budding  blossom  in 
Yorkshire.  The  second  notable  branch  is  in  the  London  district, 
smaller,  but  with  more  county  blooms,  in  Kent,  Essex,  Middlesex, 
and  Surrey,  and  fine  flowers  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge.  A  third 
branch,  an  offshoot  from  the  London  one,  is  in  the  Bristol  district, 
very  sturdy,  and  throwing  a  sprig  or  two  into  Wales ;  while  a  fourth 
branch  which  is  being  carefully  tended  is  in  the  Midlands,  where 
much  good  might  result  if  Birmingham  acted  up  to  its  preferential 

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faith  regarding  the  colonies,  and  helped  to  nurture  the  Canadian 

The  North  of  England  Lacrosse  Association  handbook  contains 
this  year  the  names  of  thirty-eight  clubs,  in  addition  to  eleven 
schools ;  twenty  clubs  are  affiliated  to  the  South  of  England  Lacrosse 
Association,  these  including  Bristol  and  Wills'  of  the  West,  where 
there  are  seven  clubs  playing  regularly,  while  the  Midlands  have 
three  clubs  in  all.  A  strong  start  at  Cardiff  this  season  gives  hope 
of  the  game  in  Wales,  and  a  revival  in  Ireland  would  be  very 

Although    the   Manchester   and    London   districts    are   agreed 


in  their  enthusiasm  over  a  game  which  gives  the  fullest  oppor- 
tunities for  the  exercise  of  skill,  pace,  and  endurance,  they 
differ  in  regard  to  the  programmes  they  arrange.  In  the  North, 
League  matches  predominate,  and  are  considered  necessary  to  the 
salvation  of  the  game.  In  the  South  they  were  tried  and  found 
wanting,  and  men  are  content  with  ordinary  games  and  a  knock-out 
competition — the  Flags — in  the  latter  part  of  the  season.  The 
North  say  that  League  games  make  men  keener  and  teams  keep 
together  better  when  they  are  played  ;  the  South  reply  that  League 
matches  supply  a  false  incentive,  and  lacrosse  can  stand  on  its  own 
merits.     The  North  retort  that  it  is  a  rare  thing  for  the  South  to 

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beat  the  North,  and  Leagues  might  give  the  South  a  better  chance. 
The  South  point  out  that  the  North  have  in  any  case  a  far  larger 
band  of  players  from  whom  to  select  a  team.  Here  are  the  two 
sides  of  a  question  which  will  not  be  settled  by  any  argument  of 
mine,  and  if  both  divisions  are  satisfied  there  is  no  necessity  for 
acrimony  in  the  notes  of  lacrosse  writers  at  a  loss  for  a  subject. 

The  game  is  soundly  governed  in  this  country,  and  as  it  is 
delightfully  free  from  rules  and  penalties  the  controlling  bodies  are 
not  greatly  exercised  in  mind  regarding  doubtful  points.  Lacrosse 
men  are  not  cursed  by  too  much  whistle,  and  it  is  one  of  the  few 

5.  *\PLAY" 

games  which  can  be  played  in  a  fairly  satisfactory  manner  without 
a  referee.  This  is,  of  course,  due  to  the  absence  of  an  off-side  rule, 
which  is  all  that  the  spectator  need  know  about  rules,  and  explains 
the  position  of  the  field  of  twelve  a  side,  with  the  first  attack  man 
right  on  to  the  goal  he  is  attacking.  Naturally  such  a  formation 
leads  to  heavy  scoring,  and  reporters  of  games  might  reflect  on  this 
when  they  describe  a  10  to  5  victory  as  an  easy  win ;  it  has  probably 
been  a  very  hard  fight  from  start  to  finish,  with  one  attack  only 
slightly  the  better,  and  both  defences  somewhat  outclassed. 

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For  the  benefit  of  the  uninitiated  the  following  diagram  is  given 
to  show  lacrosse  positions,  A  being  members  of  one  team  and  B 
their  opponents : — 

I      A.  Goal.      I 

A.  Point. 
S.  1st  Home. 

A,  Cover  Point. 

B.  2nd  Home. 

A .  Defence  Wing. 

B.  Attack  Wing. 

A .  Attack  Wing. 

B.  Defence  Wing. 

A.  3rd  Man. 

B.  3rd  Home. 

A.  Centre. 
•  Ball. 

B.  Centre. 

A.  3rd  Home. 

B,  3rd  Man. 

A .  Defence  Wing. 

B.  Attack  Wing. 

A,  Attack  Wing. 

B.  Defence  Wing. 

A.  2nd  Home. 

B.  Cover  Point. 

A.  1st  Home. 

B.  Point. 

I      S.  Goal.      I 

With  a  defence  paired  with  an  attack  right  up  the  field,  lacrosse 
is  in  a  great  measure  a  man-to-man  contest,  eleven  duels  in  con- 
stant progress,  and  the  goalkeepers  taking  a  hand  on  occasion. 

The  first  photograph  gives  a  good  idea  of  the  ''pairing,'* 
showing  as  it  does  half  the  field,  with  the  centres  facing. 

The  duels  were  very  marked  in  the  days  when  a  defence  man's 
great  object  was  to  throw  the  ball  hard  and  far  somewhere  among 
the  homes ;  then  point,  cover,  and  third  man  often  practically  sat 
on  their  respective  opponents  and  the  ball  went  to  the  goalkeeper. 
It  was  excellent  defence  in  those  days,  but  not  so  noticeable  now, 
except  when  there  is  a  bright  particular  '*  star "  in  a  team  to  be 

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kept  quiet,  and  his  checker  has  orders  practically  to  confine  him- 
self to  this  duty.  The  photograph  "Close  Checking"  vvas  specially 
taken  to  illustrate  this,  and  the  ball  is  coming  to  the  player  in  the 
dark  jersey. 

In  the  old  game  men  kept  in  a  great  measure  to  the  positions 
as  shown  in  the  diagram,  and  attacks  played  defences'  own  game  by 
not  wandering  much,  while  a  good  dodger  was  considered  a  brilliant 
attack.  Now  attacks  more  often  than  not  '*  buzz  "  down  on  goal  in 
a  body,  with  the  wings  wide,  and  are  constantly  moving  in  and  out 
to  trick  their  opponents,  while  instead  of  long  shots  at  goal  there  is  a 
continual  passing  and  repassing  of  the  ball  at  close  quarters,  until 

6.    TRYING    TO    DODGB 

a  man  is  well  placed  and  sufficiently  clear  ot  opposition  to  shoot 
with  good  chance  of  success.  Defence  wings  and  third  man,  too, 
assist  in  forcing  the  attack,  while  defence  men  often  work  the  ball 
up  by  short  passes  instead  of  long  throws. 

There  are  many  more  bright  incidents  in  the  niodern  open 
game  than  in  the  old,  while  there  has  been  a  remarkable  improve- 
ment in  crosse-handling,  the  main  feature  of  the  game,  in  the  last 
few  years. 

The  improvement  in  modern  lacrosse,  both  from  the  point  ol 
view  of  player  and  spectator,  is  entirely  due  to  the  valuable  lessons 

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learned  from  the  members  of  the  Toronto  team  who  visited  England 
in  igo2.  The  Canadians  revolutionised  English  play,  showing  us 
quickly  that  our  old-fashioned  methods  were  useless  against  modern 
tactics ;  they  taught  us  the  science  of  backing-up  and  short  passing 
both  on  attack  and  defence,  and,  in  fact,  gave  us  an  inkling  of 
the  real  possibilities  of  lacrosse. 

That  they  beat  us  all  round  is  a  matter  of  ancient  history,  but 
they  did  it  with  new  weapons,  and  introduced  to  us  a  more  baggy, 
more  handy,  smaller  and  lighter  crosse.  Bagginess,  when  the 
new  crosse  is  in  action,  is  shown  in  some  of  the  photographs  in 
the  article. 

7.    A    8UCCBSSFUL    ATTACK 

After  a  little  preliminary  hesitation  we  were  all  converted  and 
altered  our  rules  to  admit  the  new  weapon.  Now  if  perchance  we 
lay  loving  hands  on  one  of  the  old-fashioned  clumsy  implements 
with  which  we  performed  doughty  deeds  of  old,  it  is  but  to  wonder 
how  we  could  ever  have  played  with  such  a  stick. 

With  the  stick  now  in  general  use  it  is  natural  that  the  game 
should  have  improved,  for  catching  is  much  easier,  manoeuvres  are 
thereby  facilitated,  and  lacrosse  gains  in  pace  and  brightness.  The 
new  crosse  has,  in  fact,  greatly  simplified  the  elements  of  the  game, 

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while  it  has  added  to  the  skill  of  match  play,  and  the  novice  who 
troubles  to  practise  can  by  its  aid  naore  rapidly  make  himself  a 
useful  member  of  his  team  than  in  former  days. 

The  novice  must  always  find  lacrosse  harder  than  other  games, 
for  anybody  can  kick  or  hit  a  ball  in  some  fashion,  but  crosse  work 
is  an  art  more  difficult  to  attain.  Most  of  our  recruits  have  to  be 
taken  raw,  for  schoolboy  players  are  unfortunately  rare,  and  some- 
times members  of  the  awkward  squad  do  not  surv^ive  that  first 
afternoon's  practice  undertaken  at  the  instance  of  some  enthusiast. 
It  is  admittedly  annoying  to  find  that  several  feet  of  netting  is  not 
sufficient  to  hold  a  small  rubber  ball,  and  that  the  ball  when  placed 
in  the  net  and  thrown  does  not  travel  always  as  the  mind  of  the 
novice  thrower  would  direct.  But  the  A  B  C  of  the  game  is  now 
enormously  simplified,  and  the  man  who  is  really  keen  will  get  on 

Lacrosse  is,  however,  not  a  game  for  a  "  slacker,"  who  con- 
siders his  Saturday  match  sufficient,  and  wonders  at  the  end  of  his 
first  season  why  he  is  only  a  second  team  reserve.  Practice,  and 
constant  practice,  in  crosse-handling  must  be  indulged  in  by  the 
man  who  wishes  to  be  of  any  real  use  to  his  side,  and  lacrosse 
elements  can  be  mastered  by  individual  work.  Practice  by  two  or 
three  men  is  better,  but  a  few  minutes'  play  daily  against  a  wall, 
throwing  the  ball  at  the  wall  and  catching  it,  is  invaluable.  The 
ball  comes  off  at  strange  angles,  and  gives  opportunities  for  many 
varieties  of  catches.  Should  the  wall  contain  windows  the  progress 
made  in  accuracy  may  be  gauged  by  the  decrease  in  the  amount 
of  the  weekly  bill  from  the  glazier. 

As  the  novice  becomes  proficient  he  should  concentrate  his 
efforts  and  chalk  out  a  small  space  at  which  to  aim  ;  eventually  a 
single  brick  will  do,  and  when  he  hits  it  three  tinies  out  of  four  he 
will  be  within  measurable  distance  of  becoming  as  expert  as  a  famous 
attack  who  killed  a  fly  on  the  wall  of  a  hostelry ;  it  was  the  only  fly 
on  the  wall  at  the  time,  and  its  remains  are  reported  to  be  still  pre- 
served as  evidence  of  deadly  shooting  powers.  If  wall  practice  or 
combined  work  is  not  possible,  no  novice  should  let  a  day  pass 
without  a  few  minutes'  manipulation  of  the  crosse,  even  in  a  room, 
getting  accustomed  to  the  feel  of  the  ball  in  the  crosse,  tossing  the 
ball,  catching  it,  and  soon.  The  "slacker"  can  find  any  number 
of  excuses  for  not  practising  daily,  but  the  enthusiast  will  make 
opportunities  which  will  prove  of  the  utmost  value  to  him  and  to  his 
club  when  Saturdays  come  round.  He  may  be  cheered  by  remem- 
bering that  the  best  players  only  keep  up  their  proficiency  by  con- 
stant crosse-handling,  and  that  it  is  in  no  respect  infra  dig.  to  practise 
whenever  possible— a  point  which  players  of  other  winter  games  may 

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take  to  heart,  particularly  with  the  example  of  New  Zealand  expert- 
ness  in  the  elements  of  Rugby  football  before  them. 

The  fact  that  so  few  schools  play  lacrosse  makes  the  task  of 
gaining  recruits  very  difficult,  particularly  in  the  South,  where  we  have 
only  The  Leys  and  St.  Dunstan's  College.  It  is  to  the  schools  that 
the  authorities  of  the  game  should  turn  their  keenest  attention  when 
they  are  making  efforts  to  add  to  the  number  of  clubs  playing. 
Some  men  might,  in  their  justifiable  enthusiasm  for  lacrosse,  advo- 
cate its  adoption  by  schools  as  their  only  winter  game.  I  do  not  go 
so   far  as  that,    but   consider  lacrosse  an  admirable  game  for  the 


second  half  of  the  winter,  following  on  a  term  of  Rugby,  than  which 
there  is  no  better  game  to  turn  out  good  lacrosse  recruits.  Nothing 
knocks  the  true  spirit  of  sport  so  thoroughly  into  boy  or  man  as 
Rugby,  and  there  is  a  good  deal  of  give  and  take  in  lacrosse,  when 
checking  is  vigorous  and  close,  in  which  a  Rugby  player  would 
revel,  and  refrain  from  yapping  if  he  received  a  knock. 

Some  points  claimed  for  lacrosse  for  boys,  and  publicly  advo- 
cated by  such  authorities  as  Mr.  J.  C.  Isard,  of  The  Leys,  are  the 
desirability  of  a  change  of  game  after  Christmas,  when  football 
interest   is  on  the  wane;  the  advisability  of  keeping  from  football 

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injuries  in  view  of  athletic  sports  (prepaxation  for  which  is  aided 
by  the  wearing  of  hght  rubber-soled  boots  instead  of  heavy  football 
boots) ;  and  the  more  gentle  treatment  of  grounds  when  lacrosse  is 
played  (in  view  of  the  cricket  season).  These  are  reasons  of  practical 
utility,  and  take  no  note  of  the  fine  points  of  lacrosse  as  a  game 
which  is  full  of  skill  and  faster  than  any  other,  giving  manifest 
advantage  to  boys  with  their  daily  facilities  for  stick-handling  and 
general  fitness  as  compared  with  the  ordinary  week-end  sportsman. 

9.    ladies'    lacrosse — POSITION    IN    CARRYING 

However  changeable  English  people  may  be  in  their  political 
opinions,  they  are  very  conservative  over  their  games,  and  the  day 
is  doubtless  far  distant  when  lacrosse  will  attract  ;f  1,000  gates  in 
this  country,  or  its  legislators  will  be  compelled  to  deal  with  pro- 
fessionalism. At  present  it  fortunately  remains  a  purely  amateur 
pastime ;  but  Canadian  experience,  the  decent  gates  in  the  North, 
and  occasionally  at  important  matches  in  the  South,  show  that  it 
contains  every  element  of  popularity.  The  only  drawback  is  the 
small  ball,  the  flight  of  which  is  at  first  difficult  to  follow ;  but  the 

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skill  in  crosse-handling  and  manoeuvring,  and  the  pace  of  the  game, 
make  matters  very  lively  for  spectators,  who  if  they  became  more 
numerous  Avould  doubtless  be  accommodated  on  raised  stands,  the 
best  point  of  view  being  slightly  above  the  players. 

The  pace  of  the  game  makes  it  difficult  to  give  an  adequate  idea 
of  lacrosse  by  snapshots,  but  I  have  been  fortunate  in  having  access 
to  a  great  number,  and  No.  4  illustrates  excellently  some  points 
in  my  notes.  The  others  were  specially  taken,  and  in  Nos.  5  to  8 
the  photographer  has  succeeded  in  getting  capital  results  from 
good  models  (three  of  the  Champion  team  of  the  South,  1904-5). 
No.   5,    **  Play,"   shows   the  positions   immediately    on    the  word 


being  given,  and  is  not  **  faked  "  in  any  way — note  the  position  of 
the  ball.  No.  6  shows  a  tricky  attack,  with  his  crosse  held  tightly 
to  his  body,  attempting  but  failing  to  dodge  round  his  opposing 
defence,  and  the  goalkeeper  awaiting  the  result.  No.  7  gives  a 
variation  in  which  the  attack  has  got  past,  and  flicked  an  under- 
hand shot  through  just  before  his  crosse  is  checked  ;  the  goalkeeper 
has  tried  to  stop  the  ball,  but  failed.  No.  8  is  a  warning  to 
dodgers.  The  man  on  the  ground  has  been  smartly  body-checked 
and  fallen ;  his  opponent  is  not  executing  a  war-dance  for  photo- 
graphic purposes,  but  his  position  is  quite  natural,  and  the  ball 
was  not  placed  where  it  is,  but  fell  as  the  holder  of  it  dropped 
his  crosse. 

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It  would  De  discourteous  in  dealing  with  modern  lacrosse,  to 
omit  reference  to  the  ladies,  for  the  lighter  and  handier  crosse 
now  in  use  has  made  the  game  possible  for  them,  and  by  omitting 
the  violent  body-check  they  have  developed  a  game  which  by 
its  grace  of  movement  should  in  the  future  appeal  to  them  vw 
largely.  At  present  ladies'  lacrosse  is  mainly  confined  to  schools 
and  colleges,  and  there  are  many  teams  now  playing  in  the  South, 
some  of  whom  show  really  excellent  form,  particularly  in  neat 
crosse-handling  and  accuracy  of  short  passing.  As  an  outdoor 
physical  exercise  for  ladies  I  consider  lacrosse  to  be  unequalled; 
but  this  may  be  pure  prejudice.  Perhaps,  however,  a  reproduction 
of  two  photographs  taken  at  Mme.  Osterberg's  Physical  Training 
College  at  Dartford  Heath  may  help  to  prove  the  contention  that 
lacrosse  is  a  graceful  and  healthy  game  for  ladies  (Photographs  9 
and  10),  as  it  is  a  fine,  fast,  vigorous  game  for  men,  containing 
manifold  opportunities  for  unlimited  pace  and  skill,  and  for  the 
perfect  combination  which  makes  for  the  success  of  all  first-class 
team  games. 


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COUNTRY    LIFE    IN    CANADA   ON   ^^200  A  YEAR 

BY    '*  canadensis" 

Mr.  Perry's  papers  on  **  Living  for  Sport  on  ^f  156  a  Year  "  prompt 
me  to  send  you  a  chapter  of  my  own  experience,  gleaned  in  a  more 
distant  field.  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  anyone  with  a 
very  moderate  competence  can  have  a  delightful  time  in  Canada 
provided  he  has  the  qualifying  tastes  for  sport  ai^d  an  outdoor 
existence.  I  would  hasten,  however,  to  sound  a  preliminary  note 
of  warning  that  a  man  should  carefully  weigh  his  own  resources 
before  he  embarks  on  an  unfamiliar  method  of  life,  for  to  one  who 
for  a  long  period  has  been  accustomed  to  the  regular  hours  of 
business  there  may  be  danger  in  an  abrupt  change.  However, 
granted  the  above  income,  granted  also  an  inclination  for  the  open 
air,  a  man  might  do  far  worse  than  come  out  to  Canada  and 
establish  himself,  as  I  have  done,  on  a  modest  little  farm. 

Here  he  may  find  interesting  outdoor  work  all  the  year  round, 
a  little  inexpensive  sport,  and  altogether  lead  a  happier  and  safer 
existence  than  in  being  perpetually  tossed  about  in  the  risky  whirl- 
pool  of  what  is  called  business.  Should  he  fancy  a  paying  out- 
door occupation  without  severe  manual  labour  there  are  cheap 
farms,  notably  in  the  beautiful  Annapolis  Valley,  a  natural  apple 
orchard  its  entire  length  of  100  miles,  where  if  he  can  set  out  grafted 
saplings  and  wait  a  dozen  years  he  can  easily  clear  £1  per  fruit  tree 
each  year  (augmenting  each  year  after),  and  easily  manage  an 
orchard  of  from  200  to  500  or  even  1,000  trees. 

There  may  be  some  to  whom  the  life  of  the  watering-place,  be 
it  cheap  or  expensive,  proves  irksome  when  indulged  in  for  any  pro- 
tracted period,  notwithstanding  attractions  of  golf,  cricket,  lawn 
tennis,  and  mild  field  sports ;  say,  a  class  of  men  accustomed  to  a 
more  strenuous  life,  and  who  enjoy  "  roughing  it  "  a  little.  A  mem- 
ber of  such  a  class,  from  no  fault  of  his  own,  may  find  himself  at 
middle  life  thrown  out  of  his  line  of  work  with  no  similar  avenue 
open.  Should  he  have  retained  or  saved  a  modest  competence,  in 
some  comfortable  Canadian  farm-house  he  may  find  a  life  not 
unsuited  to  the  English  temperament. 

To  borrow  a  saying  of  Hookham  Frere's,  "  I  love  a  country 
where  the  Almighty  has  kept  large  portions  of  land  in  his  own 
hands."  The  farm  which  I  occupy  is  within  six  miles  of  a  city  of 
40,000  inhabitants  ;  yet  it  is  environed  with  wide  tracts  of  forest  and 
wastes  which  are  too  unproductive  for  tillage.  These  are  watered  by 
scores  of  trout  streams  and  studded  with  lakes — big  and  little. 
Hence  I  can,  during  the  season,  enjoy  good  fishing  ad  lib,,  while 

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with  the  gun  I  can  pick  up  almost  any  autumn  day  three  or  four 
brace  of  cock  and  snipe,  and  a  rufifed  grouse  or  two.  One  can  keep 
a  pair  of  beagles  for  hare-hunting,  a  foxhound  for  running  wild-cat, 
a  pointer  for  warm-weather  shooting,  and  a  setter  for  the  late  fall. 
I  have  also  a  working  horse  and  a  roadster,  a  couple  of  cows,  a  few 
hives  of  bees,  and  a  poultry  yard.  I  grow  all  my  ovm  hay,  besides 
lots  of  garden  stuff,  the  surplus  of  which  goes  to  pay  my  grocer's 
bill.  My  farm  cost  3^350.  I  pay  a  man  and  his  wife  ^^40  a  year  to 
look  after  me,  and  they  make  me  exceedingly  comfortable.  For 
ploughing  and  hay-making  I  hire  extra  help.  I  spend  one  or  two 
days  out  of  each  week  in  the  city,  and  can  thus  look  over  all  the 
English  periodicals  at  the  club,  and  keep  in  touch  with  my  friends, 
who  often  pay  me  a  visit  and  sometimes  profess  to  envy  me.  One 
intimate  friend  spends  each  week-end  at  the  hrm.  Out  of  my  ;f  200, 
after  meeting  all  expenses  I  have  sufficient  left  for  a  little  travel  each 

This  is  a  slight  sketch  of  a  manner  of  life  which  may  suit  some 
tastes,  and  which  my  experience  has  proved  to  be  delightful. 
Farming,  gardening,  studying,  and  writing  fill  up  my  vacant  hours, 
so  that  I  can  welcome  equally  foul  weather  or  fair. 

There  is  a  great  fascination  in  living  so  close  to  nature,  in 
watching  the  procession  of  the  seasons.  Each  has  its  own  peculiar 
charm.  Even  "torpid  and  taciturn  winter"  has  its  keen  outdoor 
enjoyments:  skating  on  the  frozen  lakes,  snow-shoeing  on  the 
powdery  white  wastes,  sleighing  on  the  highway  worn  to  a  slippery 
smoothness  by  the  winter's  traffic.  Winter  is  the  season  for  felling 
trees  and  filling  up  the  woodyard. 

The  return  of  spring,  however,  is  always  eagerly  looked  for. 
The  first  note  of  its  coming  is  sounded  by  the  wild  geese,  passing 
over  high  in  the  air,  bound  for  their  breeding  grounds  in  Baffin's  Land 
or  Hudson's  Bay.  Soon  after  on  some  warm  evening  the  drumming 
of  the  breeding  snipe  is  heard  over  the  lonely  marshlands ;  a  wood- 
cock is  seen  feeding  at  the  brookside ;  the  faint  croakings  from  little 
wayside  pools  tell  that  the  softer  airs  are  reviving  the  torpid  reptile 
life  :  then  little  green  spears  are  thrust  upwards  in  the  russet  fields, 
and  the  migrant  birds  swarm  over  the  bare  pastures.  Now  the 
plough  is  brought  out  and  planting  is  presently  in  full  swing.  All 
thoughts  of  sport  are  laid  aside  until  seeding  time  is  over.  By  this 
time  the  trout  are  once  more  rn  good  condition  after  the  glut  of  the 
may-fly  ;  and  excursions  to  the  lakes  with  little  portable  canvas 
canoes  are  in  order. 

The  advent  of  summer  brings  many  tasks  on  the  farm,  a  cease- 
less warfare  against  the  weeds  which  if  let  alone  would  soon  destroy 
all  prospects  of  a  crop ;  yet  there  is  room  for  a  few  days  on  a  salmon 

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COUNTRY   LIFE    IN    CANADA   ON    £200   A  YEAR     333 

stream,  and  a  picnic  party  now  and  then.  Delightful  is  the  progress 
of  the  summer  season.  All  the  countryside  becomes  adorned  with 
purple  masses  of  Rhodora  and  the  crimson  plumes  of  the  Kalmias. 
The  forest  glades  throw  gusts  of  perfume  in  the  face  of  the  wayfarer. 
The  Linnea  vine,  the  wild  cherry,  the  budding  firs,  the  "  balm  of 
Gilead  "  poplars,  load  the  air  with  their  heavy-scented  fragrance.  Of 
all  summer  tasks  the  gathering  of  the  hay  crop  is  the  most  important. 

Autumn  is  a  season  of  prolonged  and  varied  enjoyments.  The 
pleasures  of  garden,  farm,  and  wood  may  be  alternated.  There  is  a 
loud  call  to  the  forest  and  the  fields.  Game  is  at  its  prime.  Shall 
it  be  a  few  days'  snipe-shooting  with  your  trusty  old  friend,  the  boon 
companion  of  many  outings  which  lie  fair  in  the  memory  ?  Or  shall 
it  be  a  plunge  into  the  forest  with  a  native  Micmac  Indian  as  your 
guide  to  try  for  a  pair  of  moose  antlers  for  your  study  walls  ?  Or  a 
search  on  the  hills  covered  with  berry-bearing  shrubbery  for  his 
majesty  the  bear  ?     Exactly  as  taste  and  inclination  may  dictate. 

After  the  Canadian  autumn  then  comes  the  marvellous  '*  Indian 
summer  '* — a  brief  term  of  truce  to  the  encroachments  of  the  colds 
of  winter. 

The  wheel  of  the  seasons  has  now  come  full  circle.  We  are 
back  again  to  the  time  of  the  blazing  log-fire,  and  the  long  quiet 
evenings  over  a  book.  The  wild  flurry  of  the  winter  drift  against  the 
pane  is  little  heeded,  while  the  sputtering  logs  on  the  ample  hearth 
are  no  bad  substitute  for  the  gaudy  sunshine  of  summer. 

I  have  briefly  tried  to  outline  the  attractions  of  a  mode  of  life — 
v^hich  may  appeal  to  some  men,  certainly  not  to  all — within  the 
reach  of  very  moderate  means.  Many  men  in  America  who  devote 
their  lives  to  literary  effort  have  chosen  a  similar  method.  I  find 
it  a  beautiful  and  pleasant  existence,  combining  as  it  does  ample 
opportunities  for  reading,  sport,  and  outdoor  occupation  in  farming 
and  gardening. 

There  is  a  wholesome  blend  of  work  and  play.  Undoubtedly 
there  exists  in  Canada  some  subtle  charm  which  strongly  attracts 
the  old-country  man.  It  appeals  to  many  as  the  most  attractive  of 
all  the  Colonies.  India,  **the  brightest  jewel  in  the  Imperial 
Crown,"  is  seldom  regarded  as  a  permanent  home.  South  Africa  is 
a  good  place  to  make  money  in  to  bring  home  to  spend.  Australia 
and  New  Zealand  are  too  remote  in  the  estimation  of  many,  and 
generally  speaking  the  climate  is  too  arid.  Canada  is  the  nearest 
Colony ;  its  climate  and  natural  features  most  nearly  resemble  those 
of  Britain.  Its  huge  forests,  great  lakes,  and  noble  rivers,  its  rolling 
prairies  and  majestic  mountains,  lend  it  a  flavour  of  romance.  Most 
Englishmen  when  they  know  it  well  love  it  well. 

HO.  cxxviii.    VOL.  XXII.— iVar^  1906  Z 

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Im    their    vernacular   the   Australians    have    adopted  a  very  loose 

nomenclature  for  the  natural  objects  which  surround  them.    Asa 

general   rule  the  names   have    originated   from  a  vague    outward 

resemblance  to  things  that  were  once  familiar  to  their  forefathers 

in  the  "  old  country/'  as  they  still  call  England.     We  have  learnt 

to    believe    that    imitation    is   the    sincerest    form    of    flattery,  but 

occasions  may  arise  wiiere   it  is  altogether   undesirable,  and  this  is 

certainly  so  with  regard  to  terminology.     The  duplicity  of  a  name 

will  almost  invariably  be  misleading.     In  this  way  the  Australian 

Bustard  {Eiipodotis  australis)  will  for  all  time  be  wrongly  known  as 

the  Wild  Turkey,  and  it  would  be  futile  therefore  to  write  of  the 

bird  by  any  other  appellation. 

Rather  larger  than  the  species  that  once  inhabited  the  British 
Islands,  its  habits  somewhat  resemble  those  of  the  Great  Bustard 
{Otis  tarda) y  and  need  not  be  referred  to  here  in  detail.  With  the 
increase  and  spread  of  civilisation,  like  their  European  cousins 
they  are  rapidly  reducing  in  numbers,  and  it  is  to  be  feared  at  no 
dist.'int  date  they  will  become  entirely  extinct  in  the  populated 
districts.  I  have  beert  informed  that  this  sudden  diminution  is  not 
wholly  due  to  the  persecution  of  sportsmen,  although  doubtless 
they  may  be  credited  with  a  share  in  the  business.  Upon  a  certain 
station  that  came  especially  under  my  notice  in  South  Australia  their 
sudden  scarcity  was  found  to  be  contemporaneous  with  the  poisoning 
of  rabbits  by  a  specially  prepared  pollard,  and  the  eating  of  this 
food  may  possibly  be  taken  as  the  principal  cause  of  their  fete. 
Perhaps  another  factor  may  be  the  comparatively  recent  intro- 
duction of  foxes  into  the  country. 

Being  partially  migratory,  under  certain  conditions  the  wild 
turkey  moves  down  towards  the  coast  and  feeds  by  the. lower 
reaches  of  the  River  Murray  and  its  delta  lakes,  where  it  Is  attracted 
by  the  greener  grass  of  the  less  dry  climate. 

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WILD    TURKEYS    IN    SOUTH    AUSTRALIA        335 

It  was  on  the  shore  of  one  of  these  lakes  that  I  had  my  first 
experience  of  Australian  shooting.  With  its  flat  and  open  features 
this  district  put  me  much  in  mind  of  a  typical  landscape  in  Argen- 
tina, and  oddly  enough  this  peculiar  comparison  was  further 
intensified  by  a  superficial  resemblance  between  many  of  the  birds  ,- 
the  black-breasted  plovers  had  a  cry  very  similar  to  that  of  the 
ubiquitous  teru-terus  of  the  River  Plate;  the  bustards  flew  with  a 
slow  beat  of  pinion  like  the  crested  screamers ;  and  the  ducks  plied 
to  and  fro  across  the  water  in  the  mariner  of  the  restless  mobs  that 
fly  between  the  shallow  lagunas  of  the  far-away  pampas. 

The   morning  of   our    first    expedition,   we  started,  early  after 


breakfast.  The  guns  left  the  sheep-station  in  a  small  buggy  and 
proceeded  slowly  in  the  wake  of  two  beaters,  who  were  riding  upon 
horses,  scouting  a  little  way  in  advance.  To  a  stranger  it  appears 
curious  that  a  couple  of  men  should  be  sufficient  to  do  what  is 
necessary  to  secure  sport ;  but  I  understand  that  their  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  country  and  the  flight  of  the  birds  renders  them 
nearly  always  successful  in  driving  the  turkeys  over  a  required  point. 
With  respect  to  this  work,  one  man  in  particular — a  long,  rufous- 
haired  Colonial — possessed  almost  a  genius,  and  locally  it  was  said 
that  he  could  manage  the  bustards  as  easily  as  he  could  a  flock 
of  sheep. 

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We  travelled  several  miles  before  we  came  to  the  most  frequented 
ground,  and  then  three  birds  were  seen  and  marked  down  by  the 
two  outriders.  A  halt  was  consequently  called,  and  after  some 
discussion  a  definite  understanding  was  finally  arrived  at  and  we 
went  our  several  ways.  The  first  beat  was  not  productive,  but  it 
*2:ained  one  important  object  in  driving  the  birds  to  a  favoured  head- 
land which  at  this  point  projected  into  the  lake.  With  renewed 
care  to  avoid  mistakes  a  second  drive  was  arranged,  and  we  again 
took  up  our  positions  in  the  form  of  a  wide  semi-circle.  We  were 
placed  equidistant  from  one  another  in  what  is  colloquially  known 
as  a  "hide.''  Some  of  these  '*  hides ''  were  natural,  but  others 
had  to  be  hurriedly  erected  by  gathering  together  either  lumps  ot 


grass  or  loose  bunches  of  samphire,  and  building  them  up  in  the 
shape  of  a  low  butt.  Personally,  upon  this  occasion  I  took  my 
place  behind  a  dead  and  partially  dislimbed  she-oak,  where,  without 
any  shelter,  I  had  to  remain  crouching  for  some  time  in  the  cold 
bite  of  the  wind.  In  the  chill  of  that  breeze  there  was  ever)' 
prospect  of  the  long-wished-for  rain,  and  indeed  soon  it  sputtered 
down  upon  us  as  cold  as  a  moorland  shower. 

But  I  had  not  to  wait  very  long,  for  soon  the  turkeys  began  to 
rise  from  the  plain-land  in  front.  First  one  and  then  another 
mounted  into  the  air,  until  seventeen  in  all  came  flapping  slowly  m 
the  direction  of  the  ambushed  guns.  Those  who  have  been  fortunate 
enough  to  participate  in  a  grouse,  or  even  a  partridge,  drive,  in  a 

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WILD    TURKEYS    IN    SOUTH    AUSTRALIA        337 

sense  can  appreciate  the  glow  of  expectancy  that  accompanied  the 

approach  of  these  huge  birds.     Beating  up  with  a  side  wind,  their 

flight  proved  to  be  very  erratic,  and  several  broke  away  wide  of  the 

guns  along  the  shore  of  the  lake.     The  first  impression  that  they 

were  moving  low,  and  not  very  swiftly,  soon  proved  incorrect,  for  as 

they  came  nearer  it  became  evident  that  they  were  really  -flyirtg" 

higher  than  their  custom,  and  at  a  considerable  speed.     As  they 

passed  overhead,  therefore,  making  an  awkward  lee-way  with  the 

wind,  it  was  not  surprising  that  our  shots  had  little  effect  upon  them ; 

and  although  we  could  distinctly  hear  the  lead  rattle  against  their 

feathers,  only  one  fell  to  the  ground,  while  the  others  went  on  without 

much  apparent  discomfort.     The  game  was  now  so  scattered  over 

the  country  that  only  one  other  drive  could  be  organised,  which 

resulted  in  a  single  addition  to  our  bag,  but  later  another  wounded 

bird  was  picked  up,  making  in  all  a  total  of  three. 

Although  this  ended  our  day's  sport  with  the  Australian  Bustard, 

several  hours  of  light  still  remained,  so  it  was  decided  to  use  them 

along  the  lake-side  in  pursuit  of  duck,  and  despite  their  cunning  we 

succeeded  in  taking  a  few  from  the  hundreds  that  were  feeding  upon 

the  water. 

The  flesh  of  the  wild   turkey  is  very  excellent  eating,  and  the 
bird's  reputation  as  a  comestible  is  by  no  means  undeserved* 


Digitized  by 



School  and  Sport.     By  Tom  Collins.     London  :   Elliot  Stock. 


Mr.  Collins — grandson  and  great-grandson  of  old  members  for 
Warwick — was  lately  head  master  of  Newport  (Salop)  School,  and 
we  should  imagine  that  the  boys  who  found  themselves  in  his  charge 
were  lucky.  A  man's  character  may  often  be  judged  correctly  from 
his  writing,  especia^lly  when  it  takes  the  form  of  an  autobiography, 
and  readers  cannot  well  fail  to  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  the 
author  is  a  good  sportsman  and  a  good  fellow,  the  consequence  being 
that  he  has  produced  a  remarkably  cheery  and  interesting  book. 

Mr.  Collins  was  beaten  for  an  open  scholarship  at  Trinity  Hall 
by  the  present  Lord  Justice  Romer,  afterwards,  however,  being  suc- 
cessful at  Christ's,  where  he  captained  the  cricket  eleven.  His  work 
began  at  King  Edward's  School,  Birmingham,  he  having  been  elected 
classical  master  at  the  age  of  twenty-two  But  it  is  rather  the  latter 
half  of  his  title,  sport,  that  will  appeal  to  readers,  and  indeed  this 
subject  occupies  the  greater  part  of  the  volume,  shooting  and  fishing 
particularly,  though  he  has  something  to  say  about  other  things, 
including  billiards,  which  used  to  be  regarded  as  a  discreditable 
game,  and  was  once  forbidden  at  the  University.  Mr.  Collins,  how- 
ever, played,  and  got  into  the  final  for  the  *'  silver  cue." 

Before  applying  for  his  appointment  the  authtr  visited  Norway, 
and  had  excellent  sport  there.  He  and  his  friends  took  out  three 
dogs  who  were  fed  exclusively  on  game,  which  it  need  scarcely  be 
said  many  dogs  will  not  touch.  *' Old  Don,  the  bulldog  pointer, 
was  not  averse  from  grouse— even' when  uncooked.  He  was  a 
wonderfully  good  dog  in  many  wafys,"  the  author  says,  but  in  one 
respect,  which  he  goes  on  to  describe,  he  was  a  very  bad  dog?  "  1 
have  seen  him  get  into  a  lot  of  joung  blackgame  and  point  them 
one  after  another  steady  as  a  rock  while  your  eye  was  on  him. 
When  he  thought"  you  were  not  looking  I  have  seen  him  dash  in, 
seize  and  bolt  a  young  blackcock,  feathers  and  all,  almost  before 
you  could  wink  your  eye."  By  the  way,  you  could  not  easily  wink 
anything  else?  **  When  you  came  up  tq  him  he  would  look  as 
innocent  as  a  newborn  babe."     Surely  a  very  bad  dog  indeed  ! 

Incidentally  Mr.  Collins  introduces  a  ^ittle  disquisition  on 
Bridge,  the  drawback  to  which  he  considers  is  that  you  are  so  abso- 
lutely in  the  hands  of  your  partner.  The  writer  is  artful,  for  he 
makes  the  statement  that  in  his  time  at  Birmingham,  1863,  there 
was  no  golf  an  excuse  for  telling  some  golf  slories.  One  is  of 
the  rector  who  was  shocked  to  find  his  golf-playing  curate  using  goH 

Digitized  by 


BOOKS    ON    SPORT  339 

language.  The  incumbent  suggested  that  whenever  the  culprit  so 
far  forgot  himself  as  to  say  a  bad  word  he  should  put  a  pebble  in  his 
p>ocket,  and  one  day,  after  a  long  turn  at  the  Hnks,  he  met  the  young 
man  with  his  coat  bulging  out  on  both  sides.  The  rector  shook  his 
head  in  reproof,  and  said  it  was  '*  very,  very  bad,"  to  which  the 
ever-truthful  curate  replied  that  these  were  only  the  "dash  its!'* 
and  **  hang  its  !  "  *'  There  is  a  wagon-load  of  '  damns  !  *  coming  up 
the  road,"  he  confessed. 

Mr.  Collins  does  not  seem  to  have  missed  many  opportunities 
of  a  day's  shooting,  and  has  naturally  met  with  companions  of  vary- 
ing degrees  of  skill.  Once  he  asked  a  sporting  parson  how  the 
young  son  of  a  neighbouring  baronet  got  on.  His  reverence  re- 
plied, **  Oh,  only  middling.  The  first  day  he  was  out  he  had  ninety- 
five  shots  and  hit  his  father,  his  uncle,  and  one  bird."  The  author 
himself  made  a  better  average  and  a  less  mixed  bag.  He  was  out 
one  day  when  **  suddenly  six  partridges  rose  on  the  other  side  of  a 
gate  and  flew  over  two  tall  trees.  I  fired  one  shot  just  when  they 
were  at  the  top,  and  to  my  astonishment,  as  I  was  waiting  to  get  in 
the  second  barrel,  the  whole  six  fell  dead  at  the  bottom  of  the  tree. 
You  might  have  covered  them  with  a  tablecloth.  I  at  first  thought 
I  was  responsible  for  the  whole  six,  but  afterwards  found  that 
Christopher  Burne  had  fired  simultaneously  with  myself."  In  any 
case  it  was  an  average  of  three  a  barrel. 

For  many  years  Mr.  Collins  had  1,000  acres  of  rough  shooting 
close  to  Newport.  He  had  no  keeper,  yet  in  one  year  he  killed 
426  partridges,  90  wild  pheasants,  40  hares,  and  about  70  rabbits. 
Of  course  he  Hkes  to  see  dogs  work — most  people  do;  but  as  to 
walking  up  and  driving,  he  declares  that  he  **  would  rather  kill  three 
brace  of  fast-flying  driven  birds  than  double  the  number  by  walking 
them  up."  Years  ago  6d.  an  acre  used  to  be  considered  a  fair  price 
for  partridge-shooting;  many  readers  will  wish  it  were  so  now,  but 
the  increase  is  no  doubt  natural.  Mr.  CoUins  writes  pleasantly, 
though  we  are  surprised  to  find  a  head  master  saying  '*  different  to." 

Poultry   Farming  :    Some   Facts    and   Some   Conclusions. 
By  *'  Home  Counties."     London  :  John  Murray.     1906. 

"It  is  difficult  to  think  of  any  subject  upon  which  more  nonsense 
has  been  talked  and  written  than  poultry  keeping."  So  the  author 
begins  by  saying,  and  he  goes  on  to  discuss  the  question  in  all  its 
branches  with  evident  knowledge  and  experience.  No  less  a  sum 
than  £7,000,000  per  annum  is  paid  for  imported  eggs,  and  another 
-  ttrillion  for  dead  poultry.  Cannot  this  be  kept  in  the  United 
Kingdom   for   the    profit  of  poultry  farmers  ?     That  is  the   point. 

Digitized  by 



"  Home  Counties  "  does  not  appear  to  be  particularly  sanguine  ot 
great  results.  At  present  the  patronage  of  poultry  keeping  by  agri- 
cultural societies'  shows  is  largely  bestowed  in  the  wrong  way,  he 
says,  and  most  of  the  poultry  shows  have  little  relation  to  com- 
mercial poultry  keeping.  It  is  far  frqm  being  everybody's  business. 
What  it  all  comes  to  is  that  under  favourable  conditions  certain 
people  who  possess  special  advantages  may  make  poultry  yield  a 
profit,  but  buckets  of  cold  water  are  thrown  on  the  uninstructed 

The  American  Sportsman's  Library:  Rowing  and  Track  Ath- 
letics. *'  Rowing,"  by  Samuel  Crowther ;  **  Track  Athletics," 
by  Arthur  Ruhl.    New  York  and  London :  Macmillan.   1905. 

It  is  difficult  to  understand  why  interest  in  rowing  and  sculling 
should  have  decreased  so  markedly  of  late  years,  but  there  can  be 
no  doubt  about  the  fact.  The  names  of  Chambers,  Kelley,  Reofortb, 
and  others  used  to  be  familiar  to  everybody,  and  a  match  between 
Thames  and  Tyne  created  general  excitement.  Nowadays,  how 
many  readers  can  name  the  champion  sculler  ?  At  the  University 
Boat-race  season  papers  do  contain  accounts  of  the  spins  done  by 
the  crews  and  criticisms  of  individuals,  Henley  is  an  attraction  to 
many,  and  local  regattas  draw  their  crowds.  But  interest  in  the 
sport  of  boat-racing  has  waned,  and  though  this  book  is  well  done 
by  a  competent  hand,  we  doubt  whether  it  will  appeal  to  a  large 
class,  particularly  as  it  of  course  deals  for  the  most  part  with 
Transatlantic  exponents  of  rowing  and  athletics.  The  frontispiece, 
indeed,  is  of  a  Diamond  Sculls  winner,  E.  H.  Ten  Eyck,  who 
carried  off  the  trophy  in  1897,  but  the  circumstances  were  not 
altogether  agreeable.  Ten  Eyck,  described  as  **  perhaps  the  fastest 
amateur  who  has  ever  handled  a  scull,"  was  the  son  of  a  profes- 
sional, his  amateur  status  was  not  admitted,  and  in  1898  his  entr)' 
was  refused. 

It  might  have  been  supposed  that  the  introduction  of  the  sliding 
seat  would  have  given  a  fresh  impetus  to  rowing,  though  it  can 
hardly  be  said  to  have  done  so.  On  this  subject  the  author  has 
some  well-considered  remarks.  On  fixed  seats  English  and 
Americans  rowed  in  much  the  same  way,  the  British  only  having 
more  swing.  When  the  slide  was  introduced  the  forms  diverged. 
The  American  stroke  had  the  slide  for  a  basis,  the  English  retained 
the  swing  which  the  others  steadily  cut  down.  At  Henley  the 
Americans  have,  as  a  rule,  fared  badly,  but  it  is  urged  that  their 
crews  have  usually  met  Leander,  which  is  undoubtedly  strong. 

As  for  athletics,  how  excellent  many  Americans  are  has  been 
demonstrated  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

Digitized  by 


BOOKS    ON    SPORT  341 

Fate's    Intruder.     By    Frank  Savile  and  Alfred  E.  T.  Watson. 

London  :  Heinemann.     igo6. 

This  is  a  novel  containing  sporting  incidents  which  cannot  be 
reviewed  in  these  pages,  seeing  that  authors  are  the  editor  of  the 
magazine  and  a  frequent  contributor.  The  bare  mention  of  the 
publication  must  suffice. 

13ADMINTON  Library  :  Billiards.    New  Edition.    London  :  Long- 
mans, Green  &  Co.     1906. 

A  new  edition  of  the  Badminton  Billiards  book  has  just  been 
issued,  in  accordance  with  the  publishers'  practice  of  keeping  the 
books  as  much  as  possible  up  to  date;  and  it  may  be  added  that  a 
new  edition  of  **  Motoring "  is  nearly  ready,  the  latter  subject 
requiring  constant  attention,  for  the  industry  moves  with  speed. 

A  Farmer's  Year.     By  H.  Rider  Haggard.     London  :  Longmans, 

Green  &  Co.     1906. 

This  is  a  re-issue  of  the  famous  novelist's  labour  of  love,  the 
original  of  which  we  reviewed  in  due  course.  It  appeals  forcibly 
to  every  dweller  in  the  country,  we  can  scarcely  say  whether  more 
so  to  the  person  who  knows  little  of  the  march  of  the  seasons,  what 
flowers,  crops,  etc.,  to  look  for,  or  to  the  practical  agriculturist,  who 
will  be  interested  to  note  how  his  own  experiences  agree  with  the 

Who's  Who.     London  :  A.  and  C.  Black.     1906. 

What  can  be  said  of  *'  Who's  Who  "  ?  It  would  be  useless  to 
repeat  that  it  is  indispensable,  for  of  this  everybody  is  aware.  It 
could  scarcely  be  better  done,  and  the  new  volume,  we  may  add, 
extends  to  1,878  pages. 

Who's  Who  Year  Book.     (Same  Publishers.) 

This  is  in  a  measure  a  convenient  summary  of  **  Who's  Who," 
but  it  is  much  more  than  that,  and  we  cannot  imagine  the  man  who 
lives  in  the  world  and  does  not  constantly  find  it  more  than  a 

The  Writers'  and  Artists'  Year  Book,  1906. 
(Same  Publishers.) 

This  is — need  it  be  said  ? — a  directory  for  writers,  artists,  and 
photographers,  and  is  of  special  value  to  the  author  or  draughtsman 
>vho  has  MS.  or  pictures  to  dispose  of  and  is  in  doubt  where  they 
-^vill  have  the  best  chance  of  acceptance. 

HO.  cxxviir.    VOL.  xxu.—March  1906  A  A 

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So  far  as  we  know  this  is  absolutely  a  new  idea — a  sporting 
tour  through  India  by  automobile.  Mr.  P.  E.  Narraway  is  respon- 
sible for  the  notion,  and  has  negotiated  with  the  Officers'  Employ- 
ment Bureau,  133,  Jermyn  Street,  London,  S.W.,  to  assist  in 
carrying  out  the  scheme.  The  latter  have  made  all  arrangements, 
which  especially  include  tiger  and  big  game  shooting,  pig-sticking, 
etc.  A  powerful  car  has  been  built  with  every  convenience,  also 
a  second  for  servants  and  luggage.  The  route  has  been  carefully 
mapped  out  for  nearly  the  whole  of  Southern  India,  all  places  of 
interest  being  visited.  A  retired  army  officer  who  knows  the  ropes 
is  to  be  in  charge.  The  tour  will  start  from  Poona,  November  ist, 
and  will  extend  from  three  to  six  months. 

4t  4t  ♦  ♦  ♦ 

To  not  a  few  ears  the  sound  of  a  hunting  horn  is  the  pleasantest 
of  music,  and  though  the  local  saddler  may  have  such  instruments 
in  stock,  the  chances  are  that  they  are  not  very  satisfactory  speci- 
mens of  the  article.  To  Masters  and  huntsmen  in  search  of  a  horn 
the  Stainer  Manufacturing  Company,  of  92,  St.  Martin's  Lane, 
Charing  Cross,  may  be  recommended.  They  are  not,  indeed, 
particularly  specialists  in  these  horns,  all  sorts  of  other  instruments 
being  on  sale,  as  also  gramophones,  from  50s.  to  whatever  price  the 
purchaser  chooses  to  give. 

*  *  ♦  ♦  ♦ 

On  other  pages  in  this  number  is  a  description  of  how  a  man 
with  a  taste  for  sport  may  lead  a  pleasurable  existence  in  Canada 
on  an  almost  microscopic  income.  Should  he  prefer  California  he 
can,  with  fair  average  luck,  make  an  income  on  an  Orange  Orchard. 
It  is  declared  that  no  better  start  in  life  can  be  given  to  a  young 
man,  and  as  for  sport,  at  West  Riverside,  Los  Angelos,  there  is 
excellent  shooting,  fishing  of  the  very  best,  besides  polo,  golf,  and 
lawn-tennis  clubs.  Full  particulars  of  this  fascinating  country  may 
be  obtained  at  the  California  Real  Estate  Agency  and  Inquir>' 
Bureau,  21,  Copthall  Avenue,  E.C. 


Whether  myopia — short-sightedness — is  curable  has  long  been 
a  subject  of  argument.  M.  Dion,  of  the  Ophthalmic  Institute, 
191,  Rue  de  TUniversit^,  Paris,  asserts  that  there  is  no  doubt.  At 
most  one  per  cent,  of  cases  treated  by  him  are  failures,  and  if  the 
cure  be  not  complete,  considerable  improvement  is  guaranteed. 
Numerous  testimonials  from  the  most  authentic  sources  bear  unmis- 
takably testimony  to  the  contention,  and  at  present  M.  Dion  may 
be  consulted  at  94,  Queen's  Road,  Bayswater. 

Digitized  by 



The  Proprietors  of  the  Badminton  Magazine  offer  a  prize  or  prizes 
to  the  value  of  Ten  Guineas  each  month  for  the  best  original  photo- 
graph or  photographs  sent  in  representing  any  sporting  subject. 
Competitors  may  also  send  any  photographs  they  have  by  them  on 
two  conditions  :  that  they  have  been  taken  by  the  sender,  and  that 
they  have  never  been  previously  published.  A  few  lines  explaining 
when  and  where  the  photographs  were  taken  should  accompany 
each  subject.  Residents  in  the  country  who  have  access  to  shooting- 
parties,  or  who  chance  to  be  in  the  neighbourhood  when  hounds  are 
running,  will  doubtless  find  interesting  subjects ;  these  will  also  be 
provided  at  football  or  cricket  matches,  and  wherever  golf,  cycling, 
fishing,  skating,  polo,  or  athletics  are  practised.  Racing  and  steeple- 
chasing,  including  Hunt  Meetings  and  Point-to-point  contests, 
should  also  supply  excellent  material.  Photographs  of  Public  School 
interest  will  be  specially  welcome. 

The  size  of  the  prints,  the  number  of  subjects  sent,  the  date  of 
sending,  the  method  of  toning,  printing,  and  mounting,  are  all 
matters  left  entirely  to  the  competitors. 

The  Proprietors  are  unable  to  return  any  rejected  matter 
except  under  special  circumstances,  and  they  reserve  the  right  of 
using  anything  of  interest  that  may  be  sent  in,  even  if  it  should  not 
receive  a  prize.  They  also  reserve  to  themselves  the  copyright  in 
all  photographs  which  shall  receive  a  prize,  and  it  is  understood  that 
all  photographs  sent  are  offered  on  this  condition. 

The  result  of  the  March  competition  will  be  announced  in  the 
May  issue. 

The  Prize  in  the  January  competition  has  been  divided  among 
the  following  competitors : — Mr.  G.  W.  Whitmore,  Apethorpe, 
Wansford,  Northamptonshire;  Mr.  F.  H.  Hutton,  Lincoln;  Major 
G.  F.  Mockler,  43rd  Light  Infantry,  Deolali,  Bombay  Presidency; 
Mr.  Philip  Haswell,  The  School  House,  Dunstable;  Mr.  A.  Abrahams, 
Emmanuel  College,  Cambridge;  Mr.  J.  P.  Tyrrell,  Maryborough, 
Queen's  County;  Mr.  Robert  W.  Hillcoat,  H.M.  Transport  Plassy  ; 
Sergeant  A.  V.  Cable,  Royal  Engineers,  Gibraltar;  Mr.  G.  Rom- 
denne,  Brussels;  and  Mrs.  G.  B.  B.  Commeline,  Fyzabad,  U.P., 

A  A  2 

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Photograph  by  Mr.  G.   W.   Whitmore,  Apethorpe,  Wans/ord,  Northamptont  ire 


Photograph  by  Mr.  Geo.  B.  Kemp,  Watertown,  New  York 

Digitized  by 




Photograph  by  Mr.  //.  G.  Swiney,  Sand  ford  Lawn,  Cheltenham 



Photograph  by  Mr.  F,  H.  Hutton,  Lincoln 

Digitized  by 




Photograph  by  Mrs.  L.  B.  Morris,  Thornton-in-Craven,  Leeds 

THE     M.C.C.     TEAM     PRACTISING     SLIP    CATCHING    ON    THE     "  KINFAUNS    CASTLE  ' 

Photograph  by  Captain  J.  C.  Har^.cy,  Hastings 

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TIGER-SHOOTING    IN     THB     KHERI    TKRAI,     ODDH,     U.P. 

Photograph  by  Major  G.  F.  Mockler,  43rd  Light  Infantry,  Dcolali,  Bombay  Presidency 


Photograph  by  Mr.  Philip  Hasivell,  The  School  House,  Dunstable 

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Photograph  by  Mr.  A.  Abrahams,  Emmanuel  College,  Cambridge 


Photograph  by  Miss  M.  Maclean,  Ardgour,  N.B. 

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THE     RACK    FOR     THE    GRAND     MILITARY,     PUNCHKSTOWN,     I905 

Photograph  by  Mr,  J.  P.  Tyrrell,  Maryhorvufrh,  Queen's  Ccunty 


Photograph  by  Major  A.  B.  Harvey,   16th  Rajputs,  Manipur,  Assam,  India 

Digitized  by 




Phctograph  hy  Mr.  J.  P.  Tyrrell,  Maryborough,  Queen^s  County 


Photograph  by  Miss  H.  Pope,  South  Court,  Dorchester 

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B^NDY     PLAYING      AT    ST.     MORITZ 

Photograph  by  Lady  Joan   Verney,  Rutland  Gardens,  S,  IV. 

pillow  fighting  on  a  greasy  pole  over  a  sailcloth,  h.m.  transport 
"plassy"   sports 

Photograph  by  Mr.  Robert  W.  Hillcoat,  H.M.  Transport  '*PIa5sy" 

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A     LADIES      RACE     AT    ALMORIAMA,     SPAIN 

Photograph  by  Sergeant  A.   V    Cable,  Royal  Engineers,  Gibraltar 


Shot  and  Photograph  taken  by  Mr.  R.  P.  Lewis,  Lieutenant   1st  King's 
Afiican  Ri^es,  Nairobi,  East  Africa 

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Photograph  by  Mr.  G.  Romdenne,  Brussels 


Photograph  by  Mr.  Carslake   Winter-Wood,  Ken  wick,  Paignton,  South  Devon 

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GONE !  !  ! 

Photograph  }hy  Mrs.  G.  B.  B.  Commeline,  Fyzabad,  C/.P„  India 

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The    Badminton    Magazine 


BY    ALFRED    E.    T.    WATSON 

The  seventies  and  eighties  were  perhaps  the  palmy  days  of  the 
soldier-jockey,  and  conspicuous  among  those  who  distinguished 
themselves  at  that  epoch  was  the  subject  of  the  present  sketch. 
Wentworth  Hope-Johnstone  comes  of  a  sporting  family.  His  father 
and  grandfather  figured  in  the  saddle  before  him,  so  that  race-riding 
was  in  the  blood,  and  it  is  natural  that  the  friends  of  the  family 
should  have  been  sportsmen  likewise.  When  a  boy  young  Hope- 
Johnstone  used  to  stay  for  weeks  at  a  time  at  Knockhill,  Dumfries- 
shire, with  old  Mr.  Sharpe  of  Hoddon,  one  of  the  best-known  men 
in  his  generation ;  and  the  place  was  a  paradise  to  the  lad,  being 
thronged  with  racehorses,  mares  and  foals,  greyhounds,  piebald 
sheep,  fancy  dogs  and  cats,  curious  birds,  and  endless  objects  of 
interest.     There  he  used  to  "  do  "  a  horse  and  ride  work,  studying 

NO.  czzix.    VOL   xniu- April  1906  B  B 

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indeed  the  elements  of  the  art  of  which  he  was  to  become  a  master. 
It  was  at  Knockhill  that  Christopher  Sly  was  bred,  a  winner  of 
several  races,  including  the  Gold  Vase  at  Ascot  in  1871.  Christopher 
Sly  was  an  example  of  the  fact  that  no  one  knows  how  a  yearling 
will  turn  out.  He  was  a  shapeless  and  ungainly  little  creature,  so 
much  so  that  he  was  run  in  an  old  orchard  so  as  to  be  out  of  sight, 
and  there  he  had  a  habit  of  standing  for  hours  together  in  the  same 
place,  under  the  branches  of  an  old  tree,  which  got  him  the  name 
among  the  lads  of  '*  Crabtree  Jock."  Mr.  Sharpe  had  a  mare  called 
Bayleaf,  which  he  once  sent  to  Perth  to  run  in  a  Hunters'  Flat 
Race.  Tom  Spence  was  to  have  ridden,  but  did  not  turn  up ;  so  a 
local  sportsman,-  who  was  described  as  a  "  regardless  rider,"  had  the 
mount,  and,  finishing  with  desperate  energy,  won  a  distance.  Bob 
Menzies,  Mr.  Sharpens  trainer,  a  very  important  person  who  fancied 
himself  greatly,  swaggered  up  to  lead  the  mare  in,  not  at  all  pleased 
that  she  had  been  so  thoroughly  shown  up.  "  Confound  you,  sir," 
he  said,  **  what  was  the  good  of  that  ?  You  won  a  hundred  yards 
too  far !  "  **  Did  I  ?  "  the  affronted  jockey  replied,  for  he  had  not 
expected  anything  but  a  compliment  on  his  horsemanship.  **  And 
if  Vd  had  a  bigger  whip  I'd  have  won  a  hundred  yards  further!" 

In  was  in  1866  that  Mr.  Hope-Johnstone  made  his  first  appear- 
ance in  the  saddle,  his  figures  for  the  year  being  **  i  mount,  0  win," 
and  this  was  precisely  repeated  two  years  later.  During  the  inter- 
mediate year  he  never  rode,  so  that  he  could  not  have  improved  on 
the  minus  average.  Wigton,  in  Cumberland,  was  one  of  the  first 
meetings  he  ever  attended.  A  horse  called  Soda-water,  ridden  by  a 
horse-breaker  and  occasional  jockey  named  Gambles,  came  down  at 
the  brook,  giving  his  rider  a  very  bad  fall.  Hope-Johnstone  was  just 
by  the  fence,  as  was  the  owner,  to  whom  he  said,  "  I'm  afraid 
your  jockey  is  very  badly  hurt  ?  "  *'  Puir  lad  !  I  doot  he'll  never 
speak  nae  mair;  will  thee  ride  huss  i'  the  Consolation  ?  "was  the 
reply.  Business  was  business  whatever  might  happen  to  the  luck- 
less Gambles. 

Young  Wentworth  Johnstone's  first  mount,  however,  was  in 
a  flat  race  at  Hawick.  He  had  not  been  prepared  to  ride,  and 
figured  in  the  saddle  in  boots  and  breeches  borrowed  from  an 
ostler  who  happened  to  be  handy  and  to  own  fairly  presentable 
equipments,  and  it  was  rather  for  the  fun  of  riding  than  the  hope  of 
winning  that  he  accepted  the  mount,  as  the  race  was  known  to  be  a 
practical  certainty  for  an  animal  named  Stiff — if  only  he  got  off,  that 
is  to  say :  an  important  proviso,  as  he  was  an  extremely  difficult 
horse  at  the  post,  and  if  there  were  any  delay  was  tolerably  certain 
to  bolt  off  the  common  where  the  course  was  laid  out  into  the 
town.     While  dressing,  a  loud  altercation  in  the  next  room  was  over- 

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heard.  **  I  tell  thee  thou  knaws  naething  aboot  it  1"  a  voice  said. 
**  Ma  brither  is  starter,  and  there  will  be  a  fause  start,  tae  setaff 
that  auld  beggar  Stiif."  With  a  clever  jockey  called  Noble  on  his 
back,  however,  Stiff  got  off  and  won  by  the  length  of  a  street,  so 
that  the  starter's  brother  and  his  friends,  who  had  fancied  that  they 
**  knew  something,*'  were  done. 

Whether  Hope-Johnstone's  performance  at  this  time  led  any- 
one to  believe  that  he  would    twice   head    the    list  of    gentlemen 
riders  is  not  on  record,  but  at  any  rate  his  pluck  was  undoubted. 
His  next  ride  was  at  Windsor  on    a  wild    pulling   animal   named 
Bandoline.     In  the  first  race  on  the  card,  ridden  by  a  jockey  named 
Ablett,  the  horse  came  to  grief,  and  hurt  his  jockey  rather  badly. 
Bandoline  was  in  another  race  later  in  the  day,  and   the  owner 
wanted  to  find  a  rider  for  him  ;    but  the  professionals  knew  well 
what  sort  of  beast  he  was,  and  those   who   were  not  engaged  all 
declared  that  they  had  to  catch  an   early  train,  which  would  render 
it  quite  impossible  for  them  to  accept  the  offer.  Wentworth's  uncle, 
Davy  Hope-Johnstone,  hearing  of  the  dilemma,  and  knowing  how 
keen  his   nephew   was,  suggested   that   he  might  do,  assuring  the 
owner  that  at  any  rate  he  would  not  tumble  off.      "  Wenty,"  as  he 
was,  and  is,  called  by  a  multitude  of  friends,  promptly  accepted, 
though  he  had  not   come  prepared  to  ride,  and  no  friendly  ostler 
being  at  the  time  available,  he  got  up  in  check  trousers,  set  off  by  an 
orthodox  green  jacket  and  black  cap.     After  jumping  the  brook  the 
field  in  those  days  had  to  turn  sharp  to  the  left.     Wenty  was  on  the 
inside,  and  had  so  much  way  on  that  he  could  not  get  round,  con- 
sequently going  himself,  and  taking  Reginald  Herbert  on  Comberton, 
over  the  chains  and  in   among  the  carriages.     The  author  of  the 
mischief  escaped  a  fall ;  his  victim  was  not  equally  fortunate,  though 
he  was  up  again  so  quickly  that  getting  back  into  the  course  he  won 
the  race,  afterwards  accepting  the  aggressor's  humble  apK)logies  in 
the  kindest  and  most  genial  spirit,  rightly  attributing  the  mischief  to 
a  combination  of  zeal  and  ignorance  which  might  be  forgiven  in  an 
over-anxious  and  energetic  young  amateur. 

About  this  time  Hope-Johnstone  joined  the  7th  Hussars,  then 
about  the  **  horse-ridingest  "  regiment  in  the  service.  In  1873,  for 
instance,  out  of  sixteen  runners  for  the  Grand  Military  Gold  Cup,  no 
fewer  than  five  were  ridden  by  officers  of  the  Seventh :  '*  Baby," 
now  General,  McCalmont,JohnDaye  Backer,  Lord  Marcus  Beresford, 
W.  B.  Morris,  and  Wentworth ;  and  it  may  also  be  noted  that  the 
Seventh  has  supplied  the  winner  of  the  Gold  Cup  on  as  many  as 
six  occasions. 

"  Wenty"  learned  riding  in  a  roughish  school,  not  being  in  the 
least  particular  what  he  was  put  on  so  long  cis  he  could  "have  a  go." 

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For  Teddy  Woodland  he  frequently  performed  at  the  meetings 
round  about  London,  Kingsbury,  West  Drayton,  Eltham,  etc.  At 
Kingsbury  one  afternoon,  after  riding  several  of  Woodland's  horses, 
he  had  a  bad  fall,  being  for  a  time  quite  knocked  out.  He  recovered 
consciousness  on  a  form  in  the  dressing-room,  and  while  pulling 
himself  together,  and  trying  to  realise  where  he  was  and  to  remem- 
ber what  had  happened,  Woodland  roused  him  with  a  shake,  handed 
him  a  big  bumper  of  vinegar  and  water,  merely  remarking,  "  Look 
sharp.  Captain,  please !  I've  got  another  for  you  in  the  next  race!  " 
Too  dazed  to  argue,  he  was  taken  to  the  weighing-room,  and  put  up 


on  an  animal  who  he  just  possessed  energy  to  observe  had  his  head 
wrapped  up  in  a  blanket  in  order  that  he  might  not  see  the  race- 
course surroundings,  for  which  he  entertained  a  rooted  repugnance. 
He  had,  of  course,  to  be  led  to  the  post,  but  when  the  flag  fell, 
swung  round  and  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  Harrow.  At  Croy- 
don, too,  a  great  place  in  those  days,  "  Wenty '*  was  constantly 
up ;  once  on  a  horse  of  the  late  Sir  John  Astley*s,  who  was  always 
willing  to  give  a  young  horseman  a  chance.  *' Can  he  jump?  " 
Wenty  asked,  as  he  was  about  to  get  up.  **  Jump  ?  Why,  of  course 
he  can!  *'  replied  the  dear  old  **  Mate  '* ;  "  he  jumped  right  over  the 

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rails  into  the  ring  at  Chester !  "     This  may  have  been  evidence  of  a 
certain  capacity,  but  was  nevertheless  not  altogether  encouraging. 

By  1873  Captain  Hope-Johnstone  had  come  to  be  recognisedas 
one  of  the  leading  lights  among  players  of  the  game,  and  he  easily 
won  the  Grand  Military  Gold  Cup  on  a  horse  called  Revirescat; 
repeating  the  success,  it  may  here  be  observed,  on  Lady  Sneerwellin 
1875  and  on  Earl  Marshal  in  1876  ;  whilst  his  brother-in-law,  the 
lamented  Captain  W.  B.  Morris,  another  of  the  very  best  of  good 
fellows,  kept  up  the  sequence  in  1877  and  1878,  so  that  the  regiment 
did  decidedly  well !  Revirescat  was  rather  fancied  for  the  National  of 
this  year,  but  it  would  have  taken  a  great  horse  to  beat  Disturbance, 
one  of  the  best  'chasers  that  ever  lived,  in  the  estimation  of  good 
judges.      Such  is  the  fortune  of  war  that  Captain  Hope-Johnstone 
never  chanced  to  win,  or  even  to  get  in  the  first  three  for,  a  Liver- 
pool, though  he  has  won  a  number  of  races  over  the  course— the 
Valentine  Steeplechase  twice,  for  instance,  on  Lucy  and  Champion. 
After  coming  to  grief  there  and  hurting  himself  rather  badly  on  one 
occasion,  he  declared  that  he  would  **  sooner  fall  at  Liverpool  than 
win  a  race  anywhere  else,'*  so  fond  was  he  of  the  big  Aintree  fences. 
He  indirectly  had  a  hand,  moreover,  in  a  National  victory.   One  day  he 
had  a  ride  and  won  a  race  on  Oldjoe,  and  meeting  our  friend  Mr.  Arthur 
Johnstone-Douglas  afterwards,  he  observed  to  him  that  he  thought 
Old  Joe  was  the  best  horse  he  had  ever  ridden,  **  though  perhaps,"  he 
modestly  added,  **  I've  never  been  on  a  good  one."     His  opinion, 
however,  was  enough  to  induce  Mr.  Johnstone-Douglas  to  buy  the 
horse,  with  which,  as  the  reader  is  doubtless  aware,  he  carried  off  the 
great  race  in  1866,  after  creating  a  desperate  scare,  for  three  da)'S 
before  the  contest  he  had  a  wire  from  his  trainer  telling  him  that 
the  horse  was  dead  lame  and  could  not  possibly  start.     He  came 
from  Carlisle,  where  he  was  trained,  with  his  leg  in  a  bucket,  and 
happily  got  right  in  time.     If  I  remember  rightly  what  Mr.  John- 
stone-Douglas told  me,  the  mare  had  got  a  great  nail  in  his  1^,  the 
result   of  hitting   a   rail   which  a  carpenter  had  clumsily  knocked 
together  after  a  break. 

A  certain  proportion  of  falls  is  the  inevitable  lot  of  every  steeple- 
chase rider  ;  and  though  Captain  Hope-Johnstone  has  been  fortunate 
in  escaping  fractures,  he  naturally  had  some  ugly  accidents.  One 
of  these  was  at  Croydon,  where  a  nasty  scrimmage  at  a  hurdle 
occurred,  with  the  result  that  he  was  knocked  over  in  front  of  a  big 
field  which  came  pounding  along  and  passed  over  him,  leaving  him 
flat  on  the  ground;  indeed,  he  did  not  recover  his  consciousness  for 
many  hours.  "I'm  afraid  someone  jumped  on  him,"  a  sympa- 
thetic observer  remarked  as  just  after  the  race  he  was  carried  into 
the  gentlemen's  dressing-room.  "  Yes,  I'm  afraid  I  did — for  one,"  a 

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friend  who  had  ridden  in  the  race  candidly  answered.  Within  a 
week,  however,  he  was  eagerly  at  it  again.  There  was  a  meeting  at 
Kingsbury,  and  an  owner  had  two  horses  in  one  of  the  races,  Charlie 
and  Repulse.  Captain  Hope-Johnstone,  though  determined  not  to 
miss  a  ride,  felt  that  he  could  not  do  justice  to  his  mount.  He  sug- 
gested, therefore,  that  he  should  ride  the  worse  of  the  pair.  Repulse ; 
for  the  owner,  properly  estimating  his  own  capacity  in  the  saddle 
and  likewise  that  of  his  friend,  had  been  willing  to  give  him  the 
mount  on  the  probable  winner.  He  declared  to  win  with  Charlie, 
and  would  perhaps  have  done  so,  but  the  late  Major  Dalbiac  (**  The 
Treasure")  on  a  horse  called  Awalton  came  up  not  far  from  home  and 


raced  so  hard  against  Charlie  that  the  pair  ran  themselves  out  of  it, 
leaving  Repulse  to  drop  down  at  the  finish  and  just  get  home.  The 
race  was  called  **  The  Upper  Ten  Steeplechase,"  and  the  mob, 
quite  convinced  that  the  business  had  been  arranged — they  are 
usually  ready  to  believe  that  every  other  race  is  a  **  ramp  " — became 
derisive  and  shouted  out  inquiries  as  to  whether  **  that  was  the  way 
the  Upper  Ten  did  it  ?  " 

In  1880  his  present  Majesty  the  King  ran  a  horse  for  the  first  time, 
a  big  brown  animal  called  Leonidas,  and  Captain  Hope-Johnstone 
vvas    honoured   with   an   invitation    to   ride.      Carrying   the   Royal 

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colours,  hitherto  never  displayed  by  their  present  owner,  the  horse 
won  comfortably,  so  that  the  subject  of  this  sketch  has  the  honour 
of  having  won  the  first  race  His  Majesty  ever  secured. 

Rather  earlier  than  this,  in  1877,  in  what  was  called  the  Royal 
Hunt  Steeplechase,  at  Sandown,  a  rather  quaint  scene  was  enacted 
in  which  Captain  Hope-Johnstone  took  part.  There  were  three 
starters  for  the  race :  Roundhead,  ridden  by  Lord  Marcus  Beresford; 
Early  Dawn,  Mr.  Lee  Barber  up;  and  Little  Fawn,  on  whom 
Mr.  C.  Thirlwell  started.  When  they  had  gone  a  short  distance  Little 
Fawn  fell,  giving  his  jockey  a  baddish  shattering,  and  at  any  rate 
incapacitating  him  for  the  day.     At  the  next  fence  the  other  two 


refused  persistently,  and  it  occurred  to  Captain  Hope-Johnstone  that 
Little  Fawn  might  win  after  all  if  she  had  someone  on  her  back; 
so,  running  to  her,  for  she  had  been  secured,  he  jumped  on.  Inci- 
dentally he  found  that  there  was  no  off-side  stirrup,  and  that  the 
bridle  was  over  the  mare's  ear;  but  these  were  details,  and  riding  at 
the  fence  where  the  other  two  were  refusing  he  somehow  or  other  got 
safely  over.  At  the  next  jump,  however,  she  would  not  have  it. 
Fred  Archer  happened  to  be  standing  close  by,  with  a  beautiful  gold- 
headed  cane  which  some  admirer  had  presented  to  him  for  winning 
a  race,  and  as  Little  Fawn's  jockey  had  neither  whip  nor  spurs 

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Archer  kindly  handed  him  the  trophy  as  a  substitute.  It  "was  not 
the  least  adapted  for  the  purpose,  and  splintered  to  pieces  a.t:  the  first 
stroke,  but  it  had  the  effect  of  urging  the  mare  to  an  effort.  She 
went  for  the  jump,  landed  on  her  head,  the  saddle  swung  round 
under  her,  the  bridle  came  off,  and  the  rider's  gallant  attempt  was 
defeated.  He  consoled  himself,  however,  by  winning  the  next  race, 
the     Priory   Steeplechase,   on    Tom    Moody,    beating   Mr.       Garrett 


Moore  and  Mr.  Arthur  Yates.  For  the  lattter,  and  no  doubt  for  the 
former  also  for  the  matter  of  that.  Captain  Hope-Johnstone  had  a 
w^arm  admiration.  He  was  always  a  believer  in  getting  off  and  as  a 
rule  going  to  the  front  and  staying  there,  the  idea  being  that  if  you 
made  a  mistake  you  seemed  to  have  more  chance  of  getting  right 
again  ;  and  Mr.  Arthur  Yates  was  a  great  exponent  of  this  system. 

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The  way  he  would  rush  down  a  hill,  dart  round  a  corner,  and  race 
over  a  drop,  used  to  fill  spectators  with  admiration  and  awe ;  and 
many  of  the  gallant  little  band  who  studied  and  practised  the  art  of 
race-riding  at  Bishop's  Sutton  adopted  the  same  method.  I  well 
remember  one  of  them,  Captain  Robert  Sandeman,  riding  an  old  horse 
called  Johnny  Longtail  at  Sandown,  on  a  very  frosty  day,  when  it 
had  seemed  impossible  that  there  could  be  any  racing,  so  bad  was 
the  condition  of  the  course.  As  they  went  up  the  hill  past  the 
stands,  one  of  the  jockeys  observed  that  it  was  dangerously  slippery 
on  the  descent  after  the  turn;  and  Captain  Sandeman,  hearing 
this,  took  Johnny  Longtail  by  the  head  and  dashed  him  down  as 
hard  as  he  could  go.  He  slipped  and  slithered  and  looked  extremely 
like  coming  to  the  utterest  grief,  but  gained  such  a  long  lead  whilst 
the  others  were  cautiously  steadying  down  the  descent  that  he  won 
his  race  comfortably.  It  may  be  casually  mentioned  that  Captain 
Sandeman  had  been  invalided  home  after  a  bad  fall  in  India,  with 
the  doctors'  assurance  that  he  would  never  be  able  to  get  on  a  horse 
again  ;  but  as  regards  this  it  appears  that  the  doctors  were  not  quite 

Jem  Adams  was  a  great  performer  at  this  time,  and  an  undaunted 
follower  of  Arthur  Yates's  method  ;  he  had  a  ready  tongue  moreover. 
The  Clerk  of  the  Scales  at  Warwick  one  day  was  the  son  of  a  well- 
known  St.  James's  Street  saddler.  Jem  got  into  the  scales  before  his 
cap  and  jacket  were  brought.  **  What  are  your  colours  ?"  he  was 
asked.  Jem  didn't  hear,  and  the  official  repeated  the  question  in  a 
very  rough  and  authoritative  voice,  which  annoyed  Jem.  **  My 
colours?  "  he  answered,  "I  don't  know;  but  you  ought,  for  you 
made  'em  !  " 

A  curious  incident  happened  in  a  steeplechase  about  this  time. 
Captain  Hope-Johnstone  was  winning,  when  something  dashed  up, 
went  the  wrong  side  of  a  post,  and  thereby  gained  such  an  advan- 
tage that  he  was  never  caught.  An  objection  was  a  matter  of 
course.  **  You  went  the  wrong  side  of  a  post,  you  know,"  Captain 
Hope-Johnstone  remarked  to  him  as  he  was  about  to  get  into  the 
scales.  *'  Oh,  no,  I  didn't,"  the  other  replied,  took  his  seat  in  the 
chair,  and  immediately  fell  forward  dead. 

A  good  deal  of  Captain  Hope-Johnstone 's  riding  has  been  done 
in  Ireland,  where  he  has  won  many  races  over  many  courses ;  and 
he  retains  the  kindliest  recollections  of  his  visits  to  the  island.  Irish 
jockeys  are  most  good-natured  and  agreeable,  he  declares,  and  a 
stranger  riding  with  them  gets  quite  as  fair  play  there  as  anywhere 
else.  They  are  rather  casual  people,  but  infinitely  cheery.  When 
he  first  went  to  Ireland,  wanting  to  know  the  form,  he  became  a 
subscriber  to  the  Irish  Calendar,  and  noticed  that  his  name  was 

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being  spelt  incorrectly  by  the  person  to  whom  he  paid  his  subscrip- 
tion. He  drew  the  clerk's  attention  to  the  fact,  who  affably 
replied  as  he  closed  the  book,  "  Shure,  it's  no  matter;  I'll  expect 
you'll  get  it  all  the  same  !  "  Going  to  look  at  a  horse  one  day  he 
thought  he  would  try  it,  and,  getting  on,  asked  the  head  man  to 
take  up  the  off-side  stirrup  a  hole.  The  delightful  old  fellow  at  once 
replied,  "  Shure,  I  never  knew  a  good  man  yet  that  didn't  ride  with 
one  leg  shorter  than  the  other !  "  They  use  quaint  expressions, 
these  Irish  horsemen.  One  good  horse  on  which  Captain  Hope- 
Job  nstone  had  a  ride  in  the  Downshire  Plate  at  Punchestown  was 
Cyrus.  He  had  run  out  the  first  day  and  seemed  to  have  a  disposi- 
tion for  so  doing.  As  Dan  McNally,  Linde's  man,  was  putting  him 
up  he  remarked,  "  If  you  find  him  hard  to  turn,  Captain,  don't  pull ; 


pluck  at  him — he's  only  a  scholar!'*  It  is  very  curious  that  the 
race  should  have  been  completely  reproduced  at  Liverpool  in  1882. 
Cyrus  beat  everything  except  Seaman  in  this  race  at  Punchestown, 
and  in  the  National  Seaman,  Lord  Manners  up,  little  used  as  he  was 
to  race-riding,  beat  Cyrus,  with  one  of  the  famous  Beasley  brothers 
in  the  saddle,  by  a  head.  The  fact  seems  to  have  been  that  Cyrus 
had  a  leg,  and  was  not  quite  at  his  best. 

A  horse  with  which  Captain  Hope-Johnstone's  name  will  always 
be  associated  is  old  Champion,  who  at  the  present  time  is  leading  a 
placid  and  happy  existence  at  his  owner's  place  near  Edenbridge. 
Late  in  the  eighties  Mr.  John  Bell  Irving  asked  Captain  Hope- 
Johnstone  to  buy  him  a  horse.  The  price,  it  was  understood,  was 
to  be  somewhere  about  300  guineas,  and  going  to  the  December 
sales    at    Newmarket    the    commissioner    took    such   a  fancy   to 

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Champion,  who  had  been  in  Darling's  stable  as  a  two-year-old,  that  he 
bought  the  son  of  Victor  and  Violante  for  nearly  thrice  the  sum  he 
had  been  authorised  to  give.  His  doubts  as  to  whether  he  had  done 
right  were  soon  set  at  rest,  Mr.  Bell  Irving  expressing  himself  as 
very  pleased,  and  suggesting  that  Captain  Hope-Johnstone  had 
better  take  him  home  and  train  him.  He  ran  in  a  hurdle  race  at 
Hamilton,  and  was  beaten  a  head  ;  his  trainer  having,  indeed,  been 
too  careful  of  him.  "  He  is  really  not  quite  fit,*'  Captain  Hope- 
Johnstone  remarked  to  the  owner.  **  But  the  fact  is,  he  cost  so 
much  that  I  have  been  afraid  to  gallop  him  !  "  *'  Bash  him  along!" 
was  the  reply;  so  bashed  along  he  was,  and  few  horses  have  ever  had 
a  longer  or  more  successful  career.  In  due  time  he  passed  into  the 
possession  of  Mr.  Naylor  Leyland,  whose  horses  Captain  Hope- 
Johnstone  trained  and  rode  with  such  extraordinary  success.  In  all 
Champion  ran  99  races ;  of  these  he  won  ^j,  he  was  second  33  times, 
and  8  times  third.  It  is  rather  strange  to  see  the  old  horse  now  and 
to  remember  that  he  was  a  contemporary  of  Merry  Hampton  who 
won  the  Derby  the  year  after  Ormonde,  the  year  Reve  d'Or  won  the 
Oaks  for  the  late  Duke  of  Beaufort. 

Another  horse  whom  Captain  Hope-Johnstone  often  rode  to 
victory  was  Gauntlet,  a  somewhat  tricky  and  uncertain  animal  who 
would  by  no  means  go  for  everybody,  but  did  everything  he  was 
asked  to  do  for  his  accustomed  rider.  For  him  indeed  almost  all 
horses  went  kindly,  he  possessin?^  the  rare  gift  of  perfect  hands. 
Readers  whose  memories  go  back  a  few  years  will  also  remember 
Constance.  She  was  originally  the  property  of  the  Duke  of 
Hamilton,  for  whom  Captain  Hope-Johnstone  rode  her  one  day 
without  success.  **  She  is  not  quite  up  to  your  mark,  I  should 
think,"  he  observed  to  the  Duke  after  the  race ;  **  but  she's  a  nice 
sort  of  mare  all  the  same.  How  much  will  you  take  for  her  ?  "  **  I 
will  give  her  to  you,"  the  Duke  kindly  replied.  The  gift  was 
accepted,  and  for  her  new  owner  she  did  good  service. 

Among  the  many  jackets  that  Captain  Hope-Johnstone  has 
worn  is  that  of  General  Byrne,  the  owner  of  Amphion,  whom  many 
will  recollect  for  his  extreme  kindness  and  courtesy.  He  had  a  use- 
ful horse  called  Charleville,  whom  Captain  Hope-Johnstone  had 
been  going  to  ride  for  him  at  Croydon,  but  the  animal  came  to  grief 
badly,  and  had  to  be  killed  a  week  before.  **  I'm  so  sorry  you  have 
lost  your  nice  horse,"  Captain  Hope-Johnstone  remarked  to  the 
General.  **I  am  the  more  sorry,"  he  replied,  "because  you  are 
deprived  of  what  would  have  been  a  pleasant  ride  on  him.'' 

In  writing  about  Mr.  Gwyn  Saunders-Davies  last  month,  I 
expressed  doubt  as  to  whether  any  other  rider  had  ever  kept  record 
of  his  mounts,  and  whether,  if  he  had  done  so,  they  would  show 

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such  an  excellent  average.  Captain  Hoj>e-Johnstone,  I  find,  has  a/so 
kept  a  record,  and  his  total  is  a  little  superior  to  that  of  our  mutual 
friend.  From  1866,  when  he  began  riding,  to  1897,  when  he  retired 
from  the  saddle,  he  was  up  in  1,109  races;  and  of  these  he  won  no 
fewer  than  362.  I  cannot  obtain  the  figures  relating  to  seconds  and 
thirds,  but  he  had  98  falls,  and  there  is  a  note  of  28  refusals.  This 
strikes  me  as  particularly  interesting.  The  majority  of  the  races  he 
has  ridden  have  been  a  distance  of  two  miles,  but  he  has  been  up  in 
Nationals  and  in  events  over  all  courses.  There  are  eight  fences 
in  a  mile,  and  altogether  I  calculate  that  1,109  races  means  some- 
thing like  23,000  jumps:  the  28  refusals  in  this  total  therefore  tell  a 
wonderful  tale  of  consistent  skill  and  courage.  Out  of  his  last 
96   rides  Captain   Hope-Johnstone  won    on    50  occasions,  and  he 


headed  the  list  of  gentlemen  riders  in  1876  with  45  wins,  and  in 
1877  with  55  out  of  114.  Twice  he  has  carried  off  five  races  in  an 
afternoon — at  Dunfermline  in  1877,  and  at  Burgh-by-Sands  in  1885. 
On  this  last  occasion  he  would  have  won  the  whole  six,  but  could  not 
get  down  to  the  weight  for  the  last  race,  and  would  indeed  have 
had  to  carry  7  lb.  over.  He  was  afraid  this  would  have  been  taxing 
the  horse  unduly  ;  but  the  opinion  was  wrong,  as  it  won  with  a  good 
14  lb.  in  hand.  He  would  thus  have  swept  the  board,  a  feat 
^vhich,  if  my  memory  serves,  was  once  accomplished  by  Mr.  C.  J. 

Captain  Hope-Johnstone,  settled  down  to  a  pastoral  life  in  a 
charmingly  picturesque  district  of  Kent,  still  takes  not  only  a  keen, 
but    it  may  be  said  in  a  sense  an  extremely  active,  part  in  sport 

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under  National  Hunt  Rules.  He  farms,  and  one  of  the  illustrations 
shows  some  of  the  big  mules  which  do  his  work,  whilst  others 
exhibit  a  few  of  the  Shetland  ponies  of  which  he  was  formerly  a 
great  breeder.  Beautiful  little  creatures  they  were  ;  their  size 
may  be  gathered  by  comparison  with  the  horse  to  which  one  of  them 
is  acting  as  leader,  and  also  by  noting  the  height  of  the  ecclesiastical 
dignitary  who  stands  behind  the  team  in  another  photograph.  The 
pony  whose  likeness  is  given  measures  32  inches. 

The  active  work  to  which  reference  has  just  been  made  is,  of 
course,  as  a  member,  and  former  Steward,  of  the  National  Hunt,  and 
as  a  Steward  of  various  meetings  in  the  South  of  England,  notably 
Gatwick,  Lingfield,  and  Plumpton,  which  owe  much  to  the  super- 
vision of  so  experienced  a  sportsman.  There  is  a  general  tendency 
to  blame  the  Stewards  for  all  sorts  of  shortcomings  of  which  they 
are,  as  a  rule,  not  guilty.  Stewards  vary,  of  course,  and  at  some 
meetings  it  may  happen  that  the  wrong  men  are  occasionally  chosen, 
men  who  do  not  understand  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  sport  or  really 
know  the  rules  which  govern  it.  Somebody  **  fancies  "  a  horse,  or 
is  **  told**  that  it  will  win,  told  by  somebody  else  who  has  heard  a 
story  emanating  from  no  one  knows  where.  The  horse  is  beaten, 
his  backers  assume  that  the  jockey  was  not  trying,  and  angrily 
demand  to  be  informed  whether  the  Stewards  are  asleep  ?  They  are 
not ;  they  are  quite  wide  awake,  but  their  superior  comprehension 
of  the  business  of  race-riding  convinces  them  that  everything  has 
been  above-board.  At  other  times  legitimate  suspicions  may  arise, 
and  the  Stewards  may  seem  remiss  ;  but  they  perceive  that  there  is 
no  possibility  of  bringing  home  a  charge  of  malpractice ;  a  culprit 
who  is  summoned  to  explain  and  gives  an  explanation  which  cannot 
be  contradicted  rather  scores,  and  has,  as  it  were,  a  bit  in  hand 
when  next  awkward  questions  are  put  to  him — it  is  not  the  first  time 
that  he  has  been  unjustly  attacked,  and  so  on.  When  Captain  Hope- 
Johnstone  is  Steward  of  a  meeting  all  interested  in  it  may  rest  com- 
fortably certain  that  nothing  escapes  his  observation,  and  that  if 
inquiry  into  anything  doubtful  is  necessary  that  inquiry  will  be 
made,  as  also  that  it  will  be  conducted  with  absolute  impartiality 
and  the  shrewdest  discrimination.  A  man  does  not  ride  for  thirty- 
three  years,  has  not  passed  through  the  apprenticeship  of  Kingsbury, 
Bromley,  Croydon,  etc.,  without  seeing  a  good  many  strange  things 
and  learning  a  great  deal  in  various  ways.  The  mere  knowledge 
that  such  a  Steward  is  on  duty  checks  the  propensities  of  those  who 
would  like  to  travel  devious  paths  if  they  dared. 

I  remember  asking  Captain  Hope-Johnstone  if  he  betted  much 
when  in  the  thick  of  the  fray.  Riding  constantly,  as  he  did,  a  man 
comes  to  know  the  form  of  horses  ^and  of  jockeys,  and  should  not 

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seldom  get  on  the  track  of  a  good  thing — so  far  as  any  horse  ever  is 
good  in  this  sense.  **  No ;  I  never  bothered  about  betting,"  was  his 
reply.  "  Sometimes,  if  I  could  get  10  to  i  about  an  even-money 
chance,  I  had  a  fiver  on ;  but  that  was  all." 

Liked   and  respected   by  all  who  know   him,    Wenty  Hope- 
Johnstone  remains  the  best  of  good  fellows  and  good  sportsmen. 


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BY    C.    C.    AND    E.    M.    MOTT 

There  were  once  two  men  who  lived  near  a  chalk  stream.  Both 
were  men  of  means,  of  middle  age,  and  of  some  local  importance. 
One  was  a  baronet  and  a  director  of  the  Great  Mudland  Railway,  the 
other  was  a  parson.  Both  were  fishermen —  No.  The  Rev.  the  Hon. 
Philip  Harington  Foljambe  was  a  fisherman ;  Sir  Hardman  Testie, 
of  Red  Knights,  was  just  a  man  who  fished. 

He  had  four  miles  of  the  Twist  to  fish  in  :  the  Twist,  beloved  of 
all  dry-fly  artists  who  can  buy,  rent,  or — or  contrive  the  delights  of 
casting  in  its  dappled  reaches,  its  slumberous  pools  where  the 
**  pounders  "  lie  darkling  below  the  tumult  of  the  lasher.  Four  miles 
of  the  Twist  to  fish  in,  and  the  haughty  privilege  of  ordering  off  any 
fellow- creature  whom  he  caught  doing  likewise.  He  might  ha\-e 
been  happy,  one  would  think  ? 

But  oh !  as  the  song  says — **  If  it  wasn't  for  the  man  next 
door ! " 

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The   Bshing   rights  of  the  glebe  meadows  belonged  to  Canon 
Foljambe  (he  was  an  honorary  canon  among  other  things).     And 
when  he  was  not  pounding  about  the  parish  of  Slapper  (which  was 
most  of  it  comprised  in  the  estate  of  Red  Knights) — when,  I  say,  he 
was  not  hastening  to  comfort  the  stricken  and  to  urge  the  backslider 
— hastening  on  a  bicycle  in  an  apostolic  undress  that  included  suit- 
ably austere  knickerbockers,  and  what  ladies  call  **  a  black  sailor 
hat" — the  canon  was  fishing.      Fishing  with  an  airy  touch,  with  a 
supple   control,  as  of  a  grass-widow  on   the    affections  of  a  wary 
admirer.     Fishing  with  a  second-hand  rod  tied  up  at  the  joints  with 
bits  of  string.     Fishing — confound  his  priestcraft! — with  •a  success 
faintly  praised,  bitterly  grudged,  by  his  neighbour,  whose  bills  from 
Hardy  were  distracting  merely  to  read  (and  would  have  been  more 
distracting  to  pay) ;  whose  fly  went  in  with  a  plop  and  a  flump,  and 
came  out  with  a  fluther  and  a  scrape.     Well,  well !     We  cannot  be 
g^eat  executants  in  all  directions.     Sir  Hardman  was  a  pillar,  or  say 
a  sandbag,  in  the  fabric  of  commerce:  he  had  made  a  fortune,  and 
a  name,  and  a  handle  to  it.    The  Hon.  Philip  didn't  sweat  and  pant 
after  these  prizes.     He  had  loafed  and  dandered  on  till  his  charm 
of  manner  and  a  cousinly  viscount  had  foisted  him  into  this  soft 
sinecure — and  there  subsided  on  his  luck. 

Well  might  he  rest  and  be  thankful  and  ask  no  more  of  fortune. 
He  had  only  a  mile  of  water,  true ;  but  the  best  on  the  river — clear 
of  weed — abundantly  stocked — too  close  to  the  rectory  windows  for 
poachers.  They  poached  Sir  Hardman's  four-mile  beat  instead  I 
(The  baronet  was  thrifty — a  Hunks,  if  you  like— and  would  not  pay 
a.  river- watcher's  wages.)  In  all  ways  the  trend  of  circumstance 
favoured  the  parson,  and  accounted  for  his  triumphs  ;  luck,  all  luck. 
Sir  Hardman  was  ready  to  swear.  Indeed,  he  was  ready  to  swear 
vvithout  any  further  defined  grounds  for  the  proceeding,  as,  much 
embarrassed  by  his  sumptuous  tackle,  he  clambered  over  the  river- 
side stile  one  evening.  The  time  was  spring,  the  fly  was  up,  his 
creel  was  almost  empty,  and  the  canon  was  coming  over  the  bridge, 
bulging  with  satisfaction  as  usual,  thought  the  baronet,  who  himself 
bulged  unalterably  and  with  no  satisfaction  at  all — some  outworks  of 
his  figure  always  would  protrude  from  behind  the  ambush  whence 
he  endeavoured  to  stalk  an  astute  "  two-pounder.*' 

"  What  luck  ?  "  said  the  layman,  with  a  snarl. 

'*  What  sport  ?  "  said  the  priest,  with  a  smile,  as  they  advanced 
towards  each  other,  and  met  in  the  middle  of  the  bridge — neutral 
territory  that  divided  their  fishing  grounds. 

**  No  luck  at  all,"  said  Sir  Hardman  bitterly. 

**  Nor  I,"  said  the  bland  canon,  "but  I've  got  fourteen  all 
the   same — beauties,   six    or  seven    of  them" — and   he    displayed 

wo.  cxxix.    VOL.  xxii." April  1906  C  C 

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his    creel.      They    were    beauties !      **  Let's    look    at    yours,"    he 

The  miserable  magnate  complied. 

**  Ha  !  "  said  the  rector,  cheerily,  **  you've  had  a  lot  of  practice 
to-day,  I  see." 

**  Dashed  sight  too  much,"  snapped  the  baronet. 

**  Not  quite  enough,  I  think,"  the  rector  suavely  corrected  him. 

"  Enough  what  ?  "  cried  Sir  Hardman. 

"  Fish,"  said  Mr.  Foljambe,  getting  over  the  stile. 

"  What  for  ?  "  shouted  the  other. 

"  Dinner,"  said  the  Rev.  Philip,  over  his  shoulder  as  he  walked 
away.  Then  he  relented  and  called  behind  him,  '*  Did  you  get  a 
bow  from  the  Archdeacon  to-day,  Sir  Hardman  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  baronet,  seemingly  mollified.  **  He  cut  me 

"  Try  him  with  a  *  Fisherman's  Curse,' "  advised  the  rector. 

*'  I  have,"  said  Sir  Hardman.     "  All  I  knew,  at  least  !  " 

And  on  this  pleasantry  they  parted.  Sir  Hardman  felt  better; 
he  had  capped  the  parson's  joke,  and  the  point  was  at  his  own 
expense — to  be  able  to  get  a  laugh  against  himself  makes  a  man  feel 
magnanimous.     He  wasn't  really  a  bad  sort,  Sir  Hardman. 

The  baronet  stood  on  the  bridge  to  light  a  cigar ;  he  |>aused, 
and  puffed,  and  his  anger  rankled  and  rose  again  as  he  watched  his 
rival's  satisfied  back  diminishing  across  the  rectory  meadows.  A 
man's  back  expresses  so  much  more  than  his  face.  There  he 
strode,  with  the  gait  of  ownership,  along  his  goodly  heritage,  and 
his  neighbour  sat  on  the  bridge  breaking  the  Tenth  Commandment, 
and  (what  is  a  deal  wors^  breaking  it  all  in  vain. 

Sir  Hardman  had  hinted  that  he  would  enjoy  fishing  the  glebe 
water.  The  rector  appeared  unaware  that  any  suggestion  had  been 
made  to  him.  The  baronet  said  cordially,  **  Look  here,  Foljambe: 
take  a  day  on  my  beat — next  week;  say  Tuesday — I've  a  board 
meeting.     Dine  with  me  when  I  come  back  from  town." 

Foljambe  courteously  accepted  the  sport,  and  declined  the 
dinner ;  made  a  tremendous  basket  and  sent  the  best  of  it  to  Red 
Knights — came  in  the  evening  to  thank  his  host  and  was  all  wit 
and  affability  over  his  cigar.  And  returned  the  invitation  ?  Not 
he  !  covetous  old  squarson. 

Then  Sir  Hardman  spoke  out  like  a  man  of  the  world  for 
neighbourly  accommodation  and  exchange.  But  the  canon  was  a 
man  of  both  worlds,  and  he  smiled  and  rebuked  the  greed  of  the 
railway  director  by  quoting  Scripture  about  ewe  lambs  and  Naboth's 
vineyard.  Smug  hireling  of  a  State-pampered  Church  1  Confound 
his  selfish  heart,  his  cunning  hand  I 

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THE    PAkSON*S    BARGAIN  373 

But  the  ingenuous  reader  is  all  this  while  asking,  "  Who  was  the 
Archdeacon  ?  " 

He  may  have  been  venerable — his  age  was  unknown — but  he 
wore  no  gaiters.  He  was  a  gigantic  trout,  who  had  his  habitat 
just  above  the  stone  bridge.  The  rector  had  nicknamed  him  after 
a  brother  of  the  cloth.  "Just  old  Maudsley's  evasive  manner," 
he   said  pensively,  **and  very  much  his  expression  and  figure  too." 

The  trout  dwelt  between  two  large  stones,  and  Sir  Hardman 
had  got  to  know  him  well  by  sight — knew  the  two  white  marks 
on  his  brown  shoulders  caused  by  the  attrition  of  the  stones.  He 
had  often  and  often  tried  to  catch  him — with  every  lawful  kind  of 
dry-fly  when  the  canon  watched  sardonically  from  the  bridge; 
with  other  and  less  legal  lures  (I  blush  to  say  it)  when  he  was  alone 
and  unobserved. 

But  in  vain.  The  Archdeacon  was  not  to  be  tempted.  To  tell 
the  truth,  he  was  a  fish  with  a  sense  of  humour.  Alone  all  day.  Sir 
Hardman's  evening  visits  appeared  to  cheer  him.  He  would  some- 
times flirt  and  toy  with  the  badly-presented  fly — just  to  amuse  the 
angler.  Sir  Hardman's  baser  lures  he  scorned.  He  saw  them  out 
of  the  tail  of  his  cunning  old  eye,  but  let  them  pass  by.  He  put  up 
Avith  a  good  deal  of  splashing  (when  Sir  Hardman's  wrist  grew  tired 
with  casting,  or  his  temper  gave  out),  but  stood  it  all  good- 
humouredly  for  a  spell.  When  he,  too,  grew  tired  of  it  or  felt  bored, 
lazily  moving  his  fins  he  would  drop  majestically  out  of  sight  under 
the  arch  of  the  bridge,  or  would  deliberately,  being  too  self-contained 
a  trout  to  hurry,  seek  the  seclusion  of  a  patch  of  duckweed  higher 
up  the  stream  ;  and  Sir  Hardman,  sighing,  would  reel  in  his  line  and 

^o  in  to  dinner. 

«  «  ♦  »  » 

It  was  a  beautiful  Sunday  evening,  and  Sir  Hardman  was  out 
for  a  riverside  stroll,  at  peace  in  his  innermost,  soothdd  by  the 
blaiul  influences  of  Nature.  And  the  scent  of  tobacco  assailed  his 
nostrils,  and  he  beheld  the  rector,  in  a  layman's  garb — not  even  a 
priestly  collar  to  sanctify  his  mufti. 

**  Thought  you  were  off"  for  a  holiday  !  "  said  the  baronet,  this 
phrase  being  the  politest  he  could  frame  for  '*  What  the  dickens 
are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

*'  I  am,  to-morrow.  Rayne,  my  locum  tenens,  hospitably  insisted 
that  I  should  stay  as  a  guest  in  my  own  house  for  the  week-end.  I 
did  enjoy  hearing  him  preach  this  morning !  "  said  the  canon. 

•*  Is  he  a  sportsman — a  fisherman  ?  "  was  the  director's  jealous 

'*  Rayne?  Not  he!"  said  the  canon;  "he's  a  married  mis- 
sionary with  a  brace  of  daughters,"     Foljambe  was  a  bachelor — the 

c  c  2 

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polite  sort  that  never  succumbs.  "  So  I've  given  him  leave  to 
fish  in  my  water.  He'll  do  no  harm.  Keep  -the  poachers 

Sir  Hardman  uttered  something  between  a  groan  and  a  grunt. 
He  leant  over  the  bridge  parapet.  The  Archdeacon,  at  large 
leisure,  hung  fanning  himself  in  mid-stream.  The  Rev.  Philip 
followed  the  magnate's  eye,  and — moved  by  what  springs,  who  knows  ? 
— perhaps  in  a  mere  luxury  of  holiday  benevolence — he  put  a  sudden 

**Testie!"  said  he,  "here's  an  offer.  If  you  can  land  that 
fellow  this  season,  we'll  *  pool  our  water ' — that's  an  appropriate 
phrase,  what  ? — we'll  share  the  five-mile  stretch,  and  fish  it  between 
us.     What  d'ye  say  ?  " 

The  baronet,  after  all,  was  a  business  man. 

"  Not  I,"  quoth  he.  **  That's  one  for  me  and  four  for  yourself, 
rector.  But,  suppose  I  creel  the  Archdeacon  by  a  given  date, 
I'll  let  you,  at  an  easy  rent,  the  mile  of  my  water  that's  next  your 
own,  and  you  shall  fish  my  three  miles  and  I'll  fish  your  two, 
separately  or  in  company " 

**  Not  more  than  twice  a  week,"  inserted  the  parson. 

**  Mf."  The  baronet  paused — considered — agreed.  **  Not  more 
than  twice  a  week  without  special  leave  from  either  side.  Yes. 
Well,  Foljambe  ?  " 

The  canon  reflected  in  his  turn.  "  If  you  basket  the  Arch- 
deacon (I'd  like  you  to  produce  him — mere  formality,  of  course) 
before  August,  I  consent.  The  arrangement  to  be  binding  in  sactUa 

**  Dissoluble  only  by  mutual  consent,"  subjoined  Sir  Hardman. 
**  Is  it  a  bargain  ?     Shake  hands  on  it !  " 

They  shook.  The  baronet  looked  over  the  bridge  at  the  witness 
and  subject  of  the  treaty,  who  still  wavered,  unconscious  of  this 
conspiracy,  above  the  pebbles.  '*  Er — any  stipulations  about  what 
tackle  I  may  use  ?  " 

'•  My  dear  sir,"  declared  the  canon,  *'  to  make  any  would  be  to 
insult  a  fellow  sportsman  !  " 

And  the  curtain  drops  upon  the  Rev.  Philip  making  his  exit 
with  a  bag  of  golf  clubs  in  the  direction  of  St.  Crambo's.  From  the 
train  windows  he  regarded  the  shining  stretches  of  the  Twist.  "  He 
won't  catch  the  Archdeacon.     Let  him  try  any  dodge    he   likes. 

Might  as  well  fish  for  him  with  his  hat !  " 

«  «  «  «  » 

Sir  Hardman  angled  for  the  Archdeacon  with  hope,  with  patience, 
with  desperation,  for  the  weeks  were  dwindling,  and  so  was  the 
water.    Then,  realising  that  his  intemperate  whipping  of  the  river 

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^as  likely  to  defeat  his  ends,  he  gave  the  pool  by  the  bridge  a  long 
rest  and  fished  elsewhere. 

During  this  abstinence  there  came  a  dreadful  evening  when  he 
only  saw  one  fish,  and  lost  that,  and  lost  his  cast,  and  his  flies,  and 
his  temper,  and  nearly  lost  his  balance  on  the  bank  and  fell  in — not 
his  balance  at  the  bank  :  that  was  more  stable.  After  that  he 
savagely  dislocated  his  rod  and  stumped  homewards. 

En  route  something  caught  his  eye — a  fragment  of  gut  floating 
from  a  bush.  He  paused.  "  I  didn't  get  hung  up  just  here."  He 
clawed  at  the  bough  with  the  handle  of  his  landing-net,  and  secured 
the  drifting  strand. 

He  scowled.  He  had  lost  a  lot  of  tackle  that  day,  but  this  was 
none  of  his.  Coarse  Marana — a  regular  cart-rope — revolting  to  a 
trout  of  sensibility.     No  wonder  the  fish  were  all  sulking ! 

Who — who  was  the  scoundrel  ?  Almost  Sir  Hardman  rej>ented 
his  thrift — wished  he  had  a  gang  of  river- watchers  patrolling  the 
banks,  instead  of  being  left  to  play  the  detective  alone.  Alone  ? 
Why,  there  was  his  young  nephew,  Horace  Lyster  (Magdalen, 
Oxon :)  coming  next  week.  He  would  find  the  young  shaver  some 
scope  for  his  assumed  smartness ! 

Sir  Hardman  passed  the  bridge  with  a  shudder.  The  poachers 
might  have  caught  the  Archdeacon  !  **They  may  catch  him  yet, 
if  I  don't  catch  them  I ''  thought  he. 

In  a  few  days  Horace  arrived,  a  youth  of  muscular  build  and 
sedate  manners.  He  smoked  his  uncle's  cigars  with  apparent  gusto, 
and  listened  to  his  uncle's  grievances  with  what  looked  like  respect- 
ful sympathy. 

**  I'll  come  with  you,"  he  said,  **and  if  we  come  across  any 
poaching  rascals  I'll  try  and  shove  'em  into  the  river." 

On  this  agreement  they  sallied  out  next  morning,  Horace  as 
gillie,  with  a  pipe  and  the  landing-net. 

'*  Hereabouts,  Horace,"  said  the  baronet,  coming  to  a  solemn 
pause,  "  was  where  I  found  the  broken  cast  on  Tuesday  night.  On 
that  bush,  Horace." 

Horace  regarded  the  bush,  regarded  the  baronet,  with  un- 
faltering eye,  and  said,  **  Sure  it  wasn't  one  of  your  own  ?  " 

Sir  Hardman  gave  vent  to  that  indescribable  noise  peculiar  to 
old  gentlemen  in  their  scorn.  Horace  did  not  wince ;  he  only  stood 
at  ease  with  the  landing-net  and  stoppered  his  pipe  with  his  little 
finger  and  watched  attentively  the  movements  of  his  uncle,  who 
had  got  his  fly  hooked  up  in  some  grass. 

"  Come  along,"  said  the  irritated  baronet  jerking  out  the  fly  and 
the  command  at  the  same  instant.  Followed  by  his  lieutenant  he 
lowered    himself  with  ponderous  precautions   down  a  steep  bank. 

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The  angler  here  could  cast  from  the  convenient  screen  of  a  black- 
thorn bush.  The  bulky  magnate  disposed  himself  for  action,  and 
then — 

"  Hullo  !  "  he  breathed,  in  a  stertorous  soUo  voce.  "  What's 
THAT  ? " 

It  was  a  pair  of  legs,  long  and  slim,  and  visible  nearly  to  the 
knee,  in  brown  hose  and  tan  shoes  with  square  toes.  The  owner, 
out  of  sight,  recumbent  on  the  high  bank  opposite,  seemed  at  ease ; 
the  legs  swung  to  and  fro  in  sheer  abandon,  to  the  rhythm  of  a 
tunefully-whistled  air. 

The  baronet  glared  and  blew.     **  It's  some  beast  of  a  boy  !  " 

"  Quis  puer  gracilis — "  murmured  Horace,  who  flirted,  of  course, 
with  his  irresponsible  old  namesake's  muse.  He  recognised  the 
sex  of  the  phenomenon  well  enough,  young  dog;  and  so  did  Sir 
Hardman  next  minute. 

"  It's  a  girl — why,  there  are  some  more  !  " 

"  Are  there  ?  How  many  ?"  inquired  his  junior  in  a  stage  whisper 
and  with  distinct  interest. 

Peering  further  from  their  covert,  uncle  and  nephew  observed 
another  pair — of  boots  this  time;  brown  boots  laced  trimly, 
thoroughbred  ankles,  a  glimpse  of  a  serge  skirt. 

**  Girls — two  girls  !  "  Sir  Hardman  gurgled  and  choked.  "  D'you 
see,  Horace  ?  " 

**  Yes,"  said  the  Oxford  man,  demurely.  Then,  in  a  tone 
of  detached  criticism,  and,  as  the  French  say,  pour  soi,  "  I  should 
think  the  girls  are  pretty." 

The  enraged  uncle  neither  heard  nor  heeded  his  nephew's 
comment.  He  climbed  a  step  backwards  up  the  bank,  with  a  view 
to  dealing  with  the  situation  from  the  top  of  it.  He  could  now 
see  both  the  intruders  quite  plain,  though  neither  of  them  was 
plain  to  see.  Tan  Shoes  was  long-limbed  and  freckled  and  fifteen, 
and  going  to  make  a  beauty  by-and-by,  but  not  worrying  herself 
about  the  matter  at  present.  She  lay  on  her  back  whistling  in 
ragamuffin  content.  Brown  Boots  was  some  three  years  older  ; 
she  had  no  hat  on,  her  hair  was  the  curly  sort  that  doesn't  flop 
and  go  limp  in  the  rain,  and  she  was  eating  jam  sandwiches 

with  keen  dispatch 
Of  real  hunger, 

like  the  angel  who  dropped  in  to  luncheon  with  Adam  and  Eve. 
At  her  elbow  was  propped  a  rusty  and  archaic  trout-rod,  the  top 
dapping  into  the  water.  Between  the  precious  pair  lay  a  creel  fit 
to  carry  a  Spey  salmon.  So  plainly  this  apparatus  declared  the  tiro, 
contempt  almost  smothered  the  baronet's  wrath.  Probably  they 
had  not  done  much  harm  !      But  just   then  the  younger  damozel 

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rolled  over  with  a  laugh  and  said  audibly,  "  Oh,  I  must  take  another 
look  at  them  !  " 

"Baby!"  replied  the  elder  sister  with  indulgent  mockery, 
biting  into  another  jam  sandwich — oh,  such  dents  de  jcunc  chicn! 

The  basket  opened,  and  out  of  it  tumbled  a  cascade  of  trout, 
and  trout,  and  more  trout,  some  stark  already,  the  first  of  the 
catch,  some  agape  and  twisting  yet,  glistening  and  sleek,  creamy 
belly  and  crimson  dot,  all  sizes,  here  a  bulky  pounder,  a  finger-long 
skipjack  there — a  couple  of  dozen  at  least.  A  pretty  kettle  of 

Seething,  impotent,  hypnotised,  the  baronet  stood  at  gaze. 

**  That's  all,  I  think,"  remarked  the  graceless  hoyden,  and  she 
turned  the  creel  upside  down  and  shook  it,  and  the  outraged  pro- 
prietor's fury  burst. 

Reckless  of  the  tender  age  and  the  fragile  sex  of  the  intruders, 
he  bellowed  as  through  a  megaphone,  **  Hi !  " 

With  this  apostrophe  his  foot  slipped.  The  Lord  of  Red 
Knights  plunged  headlong,  flourished  his  arms  like  a  callow  seraph 
learning  to  fly,  sat  down  wildly  on  a  grassy  promontory,  scrambled 
on  end  with  a  blaspheming  splutter,  and  remained  rooted  mid-leg 
deep  in  the  cold  water  with  the  collar-stud  loose  at  the  back  of  his 
neck  and  his  top  joint  jammed  in  a  tree.  Horace  put  out  his  pipe, 
and  stood  at  attention  on  the  bank.  He  had  expected  to  be  bored  ; 
but  fishing  with  his  uncle  was  developing  picturesquely. 

The  splash  had  cooled  Sir  Hardman,  and  from  his  Triton 
posture  he  continued  the  interview  thus,  with  icy  suavity: 

"  I  trust  you  have  enjoyed  your  sport,  ladies  ?  " 

He  said  ladies.  These  wretched  girls  must  have  seen  him  fall 
in,  but  he  had  not  heard  a  giggle,  and  both  looked  quite  composed 
now.  The  young  beauty  with  the  sandwiches  suspended  her 
luncheon,  and  said  with  pleasant  ease — 

"  I  thmk  you  must  be  Sir  Hardman  Testie,  aren't  you  ?  Don't 
you  live  quite  close  to  us  ?  " 

**  I  hope  you  did  not  hurt  yourself  just  now  ?  "  the  junior  added, 

(*'  Not  bad  for  the  flapper,"  Horace  criticised.) 

These  inquiries  after  his  identity  and  his  welfare  flustered  Sir 
Hardman.  He  wanted  to  find  out  who  the  deuce  they  were !  He 
replied  in  surly  confusion,  **  Yes — no,  thank  you,"  and  automati- 
cally he  lifted  his  cap  in  answer  to  the  salute  of  the  fair  unknown ; 
and  Horace,  of  course,  followed  suit,  which  altered  the  relations 
of  things,  and  made  it  difficult  to  be  frankly  brutal.  Resuming  the 
ironic  method  Sir  Hardman  began  again. 

**  Nice  stream,  isn't  it  ?  " 

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"  Nice  bwambly  stweam/'  the  '  flapper '  gurgled  with  infantine 

At  this  moment  Horace,  who  still  stood  taking  notes,  addressed 
the  elder  fisher-maiden  with  earnest  politeness,  as  his  manner  was. 
**  I  think  your  cast's  got  hooked  fast  over  here,"  he  remarked. 
**  Can't  I  get  it  loose  for  you  ?  " 

She  responded,  **  Oh,  would  you  be  so  kind  ?  " 

Young  Oxford,  ventre  a  terre  on  the  edge  of  a  beetling  bank,  at 
the  risk  of  his  life,  or  at  any  rate  of  his  beautiful  grey  flannels, 
made  a  bold  and  victorious  grab  at  the  gut.  Piscatrix  whisked  it 
across  within  a  few  inches  of  Sir  Hardman's  nose.  The  baronet 
caught  at  it  in  self-defence,  and  then  in  amaze,  almost  in  horror, 
cried — 

*'  Why,  you're  fishing  with  wet  fly  !  " 

Piscatrix  looked  puzzled.  "  Wet  ? "  said  she.  **  Oh,  yes,  I 
suppose  they  are  rather." 

Mystery  thickened  round  the  baronet.  Could  such  ignorance 
be?  More  staggering  still,  could  ignorance  have  such  results  as 
that  pile  of  silver  plunder  heaped  and  stiffening  on  the  grass  ?  At 
that  his  anger  boiled  up  again.     Grimly  he  inquired — 

**  Don't  you  know  that  you  are  trespassing  here  ?  " 

**  But  we  have  leave  to  fish  !  "  "  But  the  rector  gave  us  leave 
to  fish  !  "  they  exclaimed  in  a  reproachful  duet,  and  the  baronet 
exploded.     A-ah,  that  perjured  priest  1 

**  But  it's  my  water !  "  he  thundered.  '*  My  water !  My  fish  ! 
I  can  prosecute  you  both  for  poaching !  " 

The  girls  for  the  first  time  looked  taken  aback.  Then  the 
younger  hurled  herself  into  the  gulf  of  silence.  Pulling  at  her  long 
pigtail  as  if  it  gave  her  confidence,  she  declared — 

**  I  only  caught  one  little  baby  one,  and  Gwacie  only  caught 
thwee.  John  caught  the  w'est.  Of  course  John  didn't  know 

John !  John  didn't  know !  Very  possibly  he  didn't,  but  the 
baronet  didn't  care.  Who  was  John  ?  Some  rascally  brother, 
some  blackguard  cousin ;  anyhow,  something  male  to  vent  his  rage 

**  Where  is  John?  "  he  inquired,  now  bland  and  deadly  ;  Horace 
reflecting,  with  mixed  feelings,  that  it  might  be  his  part  to  pitch 
John  into  the  river.     **  Where  is  John  ?  " 

The  girls  looked  up  stream  and  down  stream,  and  the  younger 
one  exclaimed  brightly,  **  Here  he  comes !  " 

Sir  Hardman  splashed  out  of  the  pool  and  stood  ankle-deep  in 
a  shallow,  breathing  fury  against  the  new-comer.  He  expected  a 
pert  thirteen-year-old,  all  impudence  and  knickerbockers.      Horace 

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looked  out  for  something  of  his  own  calibre,  and  awaited  orders  to 
collar  the  ruffian. 

John  was  barely  five  feet  high,  and  his  age  might  have  been  any- 
thing up  to  three  hundred  years.  He  was  lemon-coloured,  with  the 
impassive  eye  of  the  Sphinx.  His  European  trousers  were  turned 
up  over  bare  legs  that  moved  with  the  padding  tread  of  the  coolie ; 
he  wore  a  vast  hat,  more  like  a  straw  beehive  than  anything  else. 
In  one  arm  he  was  cherishing  a  large  brown  sack. 

"Jap?*'  Horace  asked  himself.  "No;  looks  too  sleepy,"  he 
decided.  "  Chinee.  Heathen  Chinee.  He  is  peculiar.  And  what 
the  dickens  has  he  got  in  that  bag  ?  " 

Something  alive  inside  the  bag  was  fidgeting  about.  Horace 
conjectured  wildly,  "  He  can't  have  been  fishing  with  a  ferret !  " 

The  baronet  simply  gaped,  and  Miss  Gracie,  with  tact,  seized 
this  moment  of  calm  to  explain  things.  Decidedly  some  explana- 
tion  was  wanted,  but  up  to  now  Sir  Hardman  had  appeared  too 
much  heated  to  listen  to  any. 

"  I  am  Miss  Rayne,  and  this  is  my  sister  Sydney,  Sir  Hard- 
man,"  she  began.  "  We  are  at  the  rectory,  and  Canon  Foljambe 
gave  us  leave  to  fish  in  his  part  of  the  river,  and  we  thought  this 
was  it.  I  hope  you  won't  blame  our  Chinese  boy  John.  It  was 
our  fault  that  he  caught  all  your  fish,  and  of  course  we  will  give 
them  all  back ;  and  will  you  please  show  us  where  we  may  fish  ? 
We  are  so  sorry  for  the  mistake !  " 

"  So  so'wy,"  Sydney  echoed. 

The  baronet  partly  melted.  Who  would  not  have  done  so  at 
fair  words  from  a  fair  speaker  ?  They  were  the  parson's  daughters, 
neighbours  and  new-comers — manners  must  be  considered.  No 
doubt  they  had  been  mistaken  ;  but — he  looked  at  the  overpowering 
results  of  the  mistake  ! 

"  Perhaps  your  boy  John  hasn't  caught  all  my  fish  even  yet !  " 
he  drily  remarked.  "  But  oblige  me,  Miss  Rayne,  by  explaining 
how  he  managed  to  catch  so  many  ?  " — the  sportsman's  eagerness 
getting  the  upper  hand.     "  What  fly  has  he  been  using  ?  " 

The  younger  Miss  Rayne  chimed  into  the  dialogue.  "  Oh,  John 
doesn't  fish  with  flies  nor  a  w'od,"  remarked  she. 

"  Then  what  has  he  been  fishing  with  ? "  Sir  Hardman  demanded 
at  large,  blazing.     What  indeed  ?     What  unholy  contrivance  ? 

"  John  caught  them  all  with  his  bird,"  Miss  Sydney  asserted. 

"His  what?*'  Sir  Hardman  turned  on  the  young  creature; 
she  met  him  unflinchingly  and  repeated — 

"  His  bird."  Then  she  addressed  herself  in  a  foreign  tongue 
to  John,  who  was  sitting  on  the  ground  like  an  image  of  Buddha, 
embracing  his  unexplained  bag.     What  she  said  seemed  equivalent 

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to  "  Show  this  gentleman,  John."  The  heathen  thrust  in  a  yellow 
hand,  and  from  the  mouth  of  the  bag  protruded  a  sleek  head,  two 
shrewd  fiery  eyes,  a  powerful  bill.  **  It's  a  cormo'want,  you  see," 
Sydney  superfluously  explained. 

Cormorant,  Corvorant,  Pelicanus  carlo !  Across  the  baronet's 
mind  came  the  look  and  smell  of  library  shelves,  of  a  calf-bound 
Bewick  adorned  with  woodcuts — with  charming  and  totally  irrele- 
vant woodcuts — and  printed  with  long  **s's"  like  "/s,"  so  that  to 
his  mind's  eye  the  page  read  somewhat  thus:  ".  .  .  The  Corvor- 
ant as  before  obferved  is  found  in  every  climate  .  .  .  Among 
the  Chinefe  it  is  faid  that  they  have  frequently  been  trained  to 
fifh     .     .     ." 

The  memory  passed,  and  in  a  flash  came  hard  upon  it  a  wild,  a 
grand,  a  desperate  idea ! 

At  the  same  second  Horace  lifted  up  his  voice  with  quite  a 
perceptible  shade  of  empressement,  **  It's  all  right  enough,  Uncle 
Hardman.  There  was  a  chap  exhibiting  with  some  birds  like  that 
last  winter  in  town.     I  went  and  saw  it." 

**  Oh,  the  deuce  you  did  !  "  Sir  Hardman  was  elated  beyond  all 
propriety  of  speech.  "Then  it's  more  than  likely,  my  lad,  that 
you'll  see  it  again  !  "  he  chuckled  in  a  jubilant  aside ;  and  Horace 
stared  uncomprehending  at  his  relative's  altered  cheer.  All  smiles 
now,  the  baronet  pursued — 

**  Miss  Rayne,  would  you  oblige  me  by  ordering  your  boy  John 
to  catch  one  more  of  my  fish  ?  " 

Gracie  showed  surprise.  The  baronet  overruled  it.  **  One 
more  fish  ?  "  said  she,  in  wonder. 

**  One  only,"  he  replied.  "  I'll  show  you  which  one !  "  And 
with  this  masterful  utterance  he  waded  across  a  shallow  of  the 
Twist,  scaled  the  farther  shore,  and  motioned  imperiously  to  Horace 
to  follow  him. 

The  baronet  was  on  the  top  of  the  bank  and  of  the  situation 
too.  Horace  shouldered  the  net  and  walked  through  the  river, 
flannels  and  all,  without  protest.  Possibly  he  thought  his  uncle  had 
developed  sudden  lunacy,  and  had  better  not  be  left.  In  a  pregnant 
silence  Sir  Hardman  led  on  to  within  ten  yards  of  the  bridge; 
stopped  his  personally-conducted  party  here  with  a  gesture  and  a 
scowl ;  grovelled  like  an  Indian  scout  along  the  bank,  peered  with 
the  stealth  of  an  otter  from  behind  an  alder-stump,  and  from  this 
position  commanded  in  a  blood-curdling  whisper,  **  Miss  Rayne 
come  here  !  " 

Gracie  advanced. 

**  John,  too,  and  the  bag  ! '' 

John  followed  Gracie. 

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**  On  your  hands  and  knees — crawl !  *'  the  baronet  ordered. 
Humble  as  we  all  are  when  at  the  mercy  of  justice,  Gracie 
dropped  on  all-fours,  and  John  dragged  himself  like  a  wounded 
snake,  the  cormorant  flapping  and  kicking  in  the  bag.  Sydney  in 
the  rear  pulled  nervously  at  her  pigtail ;  things  were  getting  beyond 
her.  Horace  reassuringly  smiled,  "  Hold  on,  we  shall  see  some 
fun  in  a  minute.'* 

There  was  a  colloquy,  the  conspirators  squatting  on  the  ground, 
the  baronet  instructing  in  undertones  hoarse  with  suppressed  emo- 
tion ;  Gracie's  eyes  brightening — the  mishap  was  turning  out  an 
adventure — translating  to  John.  The  cormorant,  making  savage 
grabs,  was  unloosed,  a  leather  thong  fastened  round  its  neck,  and 
John  manoeuvred  it  softly  overside  into  the  glassy  reach. 

Sir  Hardman,  puffing  from  his  exertions  (he  wasn't  of  the  build 
that  enjoys  stooping,  even  to  conquer),  stationed  himself  as  near 
the  water  as  he  dared.  Gracie  retired  a  yard  or  two,  Sydney  let  go 
her  plait  and  stood  with  her  mouth  open,  Horace  shortened  his  grip 
of  the  landing-net.  So  disposed,  the  band  held  their  breath  in  a 
silence  only  broken  by  John,  who  from  time  to  time  addressed  the 
cormorant  in  a  kind  of  yap. 

Pelicanus  Carbo  looked  superciliously  about  him  ;  dived  beneath 
the  gin-clear  surface,  and  swam  upstream  under  water  at  an  amazing 
rate.  Sir  Hardman  held  his  gaze  fixed  at  a  point  where  under  the 
bicj  stone,  his  accustomed  shelter,  the  Archdeacon  hung  at  ease — 
lazy,  arrogant,  picturesque.  The  cormorant  eyed  him — darted — 
snapped  short ;  the  great  indignant  trout  rushed  for  the  covert  of 
the  weed-bed.  The  baronet  trembled,  and  something  like  a  pang  of 
remorse  shot  through  him.  Too  late  for  him  to  repent,  or  for  the 
Archdeacon  to  escape !  He  was  already  in  the  grip  of  those  ruthless 
mandibles.  Now  the  baronet  gloated  over  his  scandalous  triumph. 
*'  If  only  the  beast  doesn't  bruise  him  !  "  he  panted.  The  *  beast ' 
emerged  and  swam  for  land,  the  prey  across  his  beak.  Sir  Hardman 
already  saw  him  dished  up,  saw  the  canon's  dumbfoundered  expres- 
sion— ah  !  he  would  have  dished  Foljambe,  too  ! — when,  in  act  to 
waddle  ashore,  the  cormorant  tossed  the  trout  aloft — missed  the 
catch — the  Archdeacon,  a  game  fish  to  the  last,  made  a  desperate 
twist  in  mid-air,  and  fell  among  the  ooze  and  pebbles  within  six 
inches  of  the  river,  of  life  and  liberty  ! 

With  a  yell  the  baronet  flung  himself  flat  and  grabbed  the 
vanishing  quarry  at  the  extreme  reach  of  both  his  arms ;  his  cap  fell 
off,  and  the  cormorant  snapped  at  that  under  a  natural  mistake; 
Sir  Hardman  lay  in  a  sprawl  transfixed,  rolling  like  a  walrus  in  the 
death  flurry,  and  Horace,  inspired  by  beauty's  eyes,  leapt  like 
Qiiintus  Curtius  from  the  bank  above,  and  thrusting  the  net  under 

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the  baronet's  hands  still  clenched  upon  his  victim,  shouted  aloud : 
"  Tve  got  him,  Uncle  Hardman ;  let  go !  " 

And  thus,  even  thus,  the  Archdeacon  was  grassed.  Mobbed 
and  hustled  to  his  death,  he  fell  to  the  base  lure  of  an  undesirable 
alien — he  who  had  mocked  the  arts  of  half  a  hundred  fishermen — 
O  miserable  end !  infandutn !  infandum ! 

He  lay  among  the  buttercups  at  Sir  Hardman's  feet;  the 
baronet  had  collapsed  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  stile,  and  I  believe  he 
shed  tears.  The  girls  clapped  wildly :  Horace  waved  the  landing- 
net  round  his  head  and  cheered.  What  the  cormorant's  feelings 
were  nobody  knows,  for  John  crammed  him  back  in  the  bag, 
snapping  like  a  turtle. 

**  By  Jove  !  "  said  the  baronet,  getting  up  and  wiping  the  drops 
of  agony  from  his  brow. 

And  the  last  tableau  of  this  amazing  drama  presents  a  back 
view  of  the  baronet,  of  Sydney's  pigtail  swinging  cheerfully  beside 
him,  of  Horace  following,  flirting  with  Gracie  with  the  same  staid 
and  resolute  attack  that  marked  his  methods  in  the  football  field ; 
the  whole  quartet  making  for  the  rectory,  John  having  been  dis- 
patched as  advance  courier — how  he  reported  the  adventure  I  don't 
know.  Mrs.  Rayne,  a  cheerful  matron  who  had  consorted  with 
heathen'potentates,  was  not  at  all  flustered  when  her  ofispring  turned 
up  with  the  baronet  in  tow  ;  Horace  discovered  that  the  Rev.  James 
Rayne  had  in  his  day  rowed  in  the  Magdalen  boat ;  there  was  a 
lively  tea  in  the  canon's  bachelor  sanctum.  The  Rayne  family  lived 
on  poached  trout  all  next  day,  and  the  cormorant  was  (as  heralds 
describe  it)  **  royally  gorged  "  on  the  same. 

The  Hon.  Philip  Foljambe,  at  St.  Crambo's,  received  this 
remarkable  telegram : 

**  Archdeacon  goes  by  parcel  post  to-night.*' 

Rector  and  baronet  still  live  side  by  side,  and  still  fish  their 
joint  property  in  peace  and  comradeship.  I  met  the  canon  at  a 
fishing-inn  up  in  the  Shetlands,  and  he  told  me  this  tale.  So  I 
know  it  is  fact  and  not  fable.  Besides,  a  fable  always  has  a  moral, 
and  I  am  sure  this  hasn't  any. 

[Bewick  quotes  Whitlock  and  Willoughby  with  regard  to  this  sport  as  practised  in 
England  in  the  seventeenth  century.  The  latter  says  the  cormorants  were  "  hoodwinked 
in  the  manner  of  the  falcons  till  they  were  let  off  to  fish."  ^^  hitlock  avers  that  *•  he  had 
a  cast  of  them  manned  like  hawks,  which  would  come  to  hand,"  and  relates  that  the  best 
he  possessed  was  one  presented  to  him  by  Mr.  Wood,  "  Master  of  the  Corvorants"  to 
Charles  1.  {British  Birds,  Vol.  II,  p.  387).  In  China  these  domesticated  cormorants  are 
the  property  of  Government  and  carefully  registered.  "  John  "  must  have  smuggled  his 
bird  across  somehow — possibly  with  the  connivance  of  the  missionary — a  horrid  surmise.] 

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BY    THE     BARONESS     S.     VON     C. 

However  much  we  may  pride  ourselves  upon  the  national  idiosyn- 
crasy of  the  English-speaking  race,  our  love  of  hunting,  there  is  no 
gainsaying  the  fact  that  venery,  to  call  the  science  of  hunting 
by  its  ancient  name,  came  to  us  from  France.  It  was  there  that 
hunting  was  first  regulated  by  the  establishment  of  well-defined 
rules  and  ceremonials,  and  became  distinguished  by  a  vocabulary  of 
its  own,  in  which  every  man  of  gentle  birth  had  to  be  well  versed, 
any  transgression  of  the  language  or  customs  of  the  chase  being 
deemed  as  great  a  lack  in  education  and  good  manners  as  would  an 
illiterate  and  badly-spelt  letter  be  considered  so  to-day. 

The  worship  of  the  tall  red-deer  came  over  to  Britain  with  the 
Norman  conquerors,  as  did  the  latter's  language,  which  remained 
the  Court  tongue  for  quite  three  hundred  years  after  the  landing  of 
William  at  Senlac. 

In  the  days  of  primitive  man  hunting  was  as  much  a  measure 
of  self-defence  as  was  war  itself;  for  not  only  had  our  skin-clad 
forefathers  to  pursue  the  beasts  of  the  forest  in  order  to  fill  their 
larders,  but  an  incessant  warfare  had  to  be  waged  against  the 
carnivorous  beasts  of  prey  who  decimated  their  domestic  kine,  and 
even  against  deer  and  wild  boar,  who  devastated  their  crops.  The 
distinction  between  mere  pot-hunting,  pursued  with  the  sole  object 
of  filling  the  larder  or  of  destroying  noxious  animals,  and  on  the 
other  hand  hunting  for  the  sake  of  sport,  dates  back  to  the 
earliest  times.  Arian  already  says  that  **  the  true  sportsman  does 
not  take  out  his  dogs  to  destroy  hares,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  course 
and  of  the  contest  between  the  dogs  and  the  hare,  and  is  glad  if  the 
hare  escapes."  And  he  adds  that  those  Gauls  who  only  course  for 
the  sport  and  do  not  live  by  what  they  catch  never  use  nets. 

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It  has  become  the  fashion  to  speak  of  the  hunters  of  olden 
times  as  unsportsmanlike,  and  as  slaughtering  rather  than  hunting 
their  game.  One  is  told  that  they  considered  any  means  legitimate 
so  long  as  they  achieved  the  principal  end,  the  death  of  the  quarry 
and  the  filling  of  the  larder,  or  the  destruction  of  beasts  of  prey,  in 
as  easy  and  inglorious  a  manner  as  possible.  This  is  an  entirely 
unjustified  reproach,  and  were  those  who  utter  such  sentiments 
better  acquainted  with  the  old  literature  of  the  chase,  no  such 
sneers  would  be  current. 


No  one,  of  course,  would  contend  that  hunting  in  the  olden 
days  was  the  exact  counterpart  in  every  detail  of  what  we  enjoy  in 
England  to-day.  The  surroundings,  the  game,  as  well  as  many 
other  circumstances,  have  created  an  unavoidable  distinction. 
Hunting  the  fox  and  the  carted  deer  are  modern  forms  of  sport, 
resulting  from  the  almost  entire  annihilation  of  big  game  and  the 
steady  deforestation  of  the  country  that  has  been  going  on  for  the 
last  six  hundred  years.  We  can  take  it,  therefore,  that  from  an 
early  date  hunting,  shooting,  coursing,  and  driving  for  the  sake  of 

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Sport  pure  and  simple  were  carried  on  side  by  side  with  the  methods 

which    were  more   Saxon    or  Teutonic   than    French    or   Norman, 

of  hunting  within  an  enclosed  boundary  for  the  sake  of  the  larder. 

It  is  necessary  to  lay  emphasis  on  this,  for  dire  confusion  has  been 

occasioned     by    various    writers    who,    after   somewhat   superficial 

researches,  have  failed  either  to  recognise  the  difference  that  obtained 

in   contemporary   mediaeval    methods    of    hunting,    or  to  interpret 

correctly  the  pictorial  material  illustrative  of  old  sport  that  has  come 

down  to  us. 


The  sport  that  was  first  and  foremost  in  the  heart  of  all  men  of 
gentle  birth  in  the  Middle  Ages  in  France  as  well  as  in  England 
was  stag-hunting  proper.  The  descendants  of  the  Gauls,  the  true 
veneurs,  discouraged  the  killing  of  any  animal  of  venery  unless  it  was 
done  in  a  knightly  manner,  allowing  to  the  hunted  beast  a  certain 
amount  of  fair  play.  The  chase  conducted  on  these  lines  demanded 
courage,  skill,  endurance,  a  considerable  amount  of  knowledge  of 
hounds  and  of  hunting  lore.  That  the  life  of  the  stag,  wild  boar,  or 
wolf  was  eventually  ended  by  a  shot  from  a  bow  or  a  thrust  from  a 
spear  or  sword,  was  merely  an  incident  of  no  greater  importance 

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than  is  the  coup  de  grace  that  dispatches  the  stag  standing  at  bay 
before  the  Devon  and  Somerset  in  the  twentieth  century. 

It  was  the  pleasure  of  tracking  the  beast  to  its  haunts,  of  seeing 
the  hounds  picking  out  the  scent,  of  helping  them  with  voice  and 
horn,  of  encouraging  them  to  follow  staunchly  the  tracks  of  one  and 
the  same  beast  in  spite  of  all  its  wiles  and  ruses,  which  was  the  chief 
enjoyment ;  not  the  slaying  of  the  hunted  animal,  nor  the  riding.  A 
man  was  on  horseback  when  hunting  in  order  to  be  near  the 
hounds,  to  check  them  if  they  **  hunted  the  change,"  to  "sore 
astry  "  them  if  they  ran  riot,  and  to  be  at  the  bay  before  antlers  or 
tusks  could  work  havoc  among  the  pack;  he  was  not  mounted 
for  the  mere  pleasure  of  riding.  Throughout  mediaeval  literature 
we  see  that  the  hounds  were  the  essence  of  the  chase,  and  not  in  a 
single  instance  that  we  know  of  in  the  early  French  and  English 
literature  on  hunting  is  the  horse  discussed.  Every  man  of  gentle 
birth  was  necessarily  in  those  days  a  horseman ;  but  this  by  no 
means  qualified  him  as  a  veneur,  for  venery  was  an  art  by  itself,  which 
required  a  lifelong  apprenticeship.  It  is  very  likely  that  could  one 
of  these  mediaeval  hunters  come  to  life,  he  would  be  as  much 
astonished  if  asked  to  negotiate  a  post-and-rails  or  a  bullfinch,  as  he 
would  be  at  the  unorthodox  views  regarding  the  raison  d'etre  of 
hunting  entertained  to-day  by  the  large  majority  of  riders  to  hounds. 

Hunting  with  hounds  was  called  hunting  by  strength  of 
hounds,  a  very  direct  rendering  of  the  French  prendre  a  force  de 
chiens,  and  was  generally  shortened  in  both  languages  to  hunting  at 
force;  in  Germany,  Par  Force  Jagd,  Coursing  with  greyhounds 
was  called  prendre  a  force  de  levriers.  This  latter  was  resorted  to 
when  the  deer  had  been  hunted  up  in  some  enclosed  or  partiaUy 
enclosed  place,  whether  the  boundaries  were  made  of  nets  or  hedges 
or  stations  of  huntsmen  and  greyhounds,  which  latter  were  called 
**  stables."  Greyhounds  were  occasionally  slipped  when  the  quarry 
broke  covert  and  went  away  over  an  open  country,  in  order  to 
wind  or  **  burst  "  the  animal,  so  that  the  raches  or  hounds  could 
overtake  it.  The  latter  were  of  the  heavy  bloodhound  type,  endowed 
with  more  nose  than  pace,  and  however  invaluable  they  may  have 
been  for  forest  hunting,  they  probably  stood  a  poor  chance  of  over- 
taking a  "  light  *'  or  swift  beast  which  had  got  a  good  start  of  them 
in  a  clear  country. 

Sportsmen  of  old  were  exceedingly  particular  about  **  refusing 
the  change,"  i.e.  of  keeping  to  the  stag  they  had  first  roused  or 
started,  and  killing  him  only.  However  often  the  wily  hart  might 
push  up  another  stag  and  make  him  take  his  place — he  himself 
lying  down  in  some  copse  or  thicket,  his  antlers  laid  low  on  his  back, 
thus  hiding  himself  and  causing  the  hounds  to  hunt  his  substitute— 

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no  huntsman  or  hounds  worth  anything  would  accept  the  change, 
and  most  praise  was  lavished  on  those  hounds  who  staunchly  stuck 
to  the  line  of  the  first  stag,  "  unravelling  the  change  '*  even  if  the 
pursued  took  refuge  among  a  whole  herd  of  deer. 

In  the  fifteenth  century,  chiefly  in  consequence  of  civil  disorders 

brought  about  by  the  French  wars,  game  was  becoming  scarcer  in 

England,  and  by  the  time  Henry  VIII.  ascended  the  throne  the  ideas 

about  sport  had  undergone  considerable  changes,  woodcraft  being 

no  longer  held  up  as  the  ideal.     Sir  Thomas  Eliot,  writing  in  1531, 

speaks  of  the  chase  as  a  means  of  obtaining  exercise  and  showing 


prowess,  and  he  recommends  a  characteristic  reward  for  the  suc- 
cessful hunter,  which  would  have  been  hailed  with  derision  by  the 
t;^w^wrs  of  preceding  centuries.  After  stating  that  the  red  deer  and 
fallow  deer  be  pursued  with  **  javelins  and  other  waipons  in  manner 
of  warre,'*  he  declares  that  as  a  suitable  reward  at  the  end  of  the  day 
*•  a  garland  or  some  lyke  token  be  gyven  in  signe  of  victorie  '*  ! 

While  James  I.  in  the  following  century  made   an  attempt  to 

reintroduce  Norman  hunting  into   England  from  France,  where  it 

vv^as  still  flourishing,  and  for  this  purpose  caused  French  veneurs  and 

hunting   establishments   to   be   brought  to  England,   the  changed 

NO.  cxxix.    VOL  xxii.— 'April  1906  D  D 

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conditions  of  life  as  well  as  the  scarcity  of  wild  deer  foredoomed  it 
to  failure.  It  can  therefore  be  said  that  old  English  hunting  became 
extinct  in  the  fifteenth  century. 

Before  reverting  to  the  literature  on  our  subject  it  is  necessary 
to  say  a  few  words  about  the  pot-hunting  professional  hunter  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  whose  duty  it  was  to  keep  the  king's  larder  well 
supplied  with  venison.  The  hunting  establishments  of  the  earlier 
Plantagenet  kings  consisted  of  packs  of  harthounds,  buckhounds, 
harriers,  and  otterhounds,  over  each  of  which  was  placed  a  master 


with  a  daily  wage  of  twelve  pence  (Edward  II.).  As  attendants  they 
had  yeomen  at  horse,  and  yeomen  berners  who  attended  on  foot  to 
the  running  hounds;  then  there  were  fewterers  or  veutrers,  as  were 
called  the  attendants  on  the  greyhounds ;  then  lymerers  or  limers, 
who  led  the  lymer  or  tracking  hound  ;  then  bercelettars  or  yeomen  of 
the  bow,  or  archers,  with  a  daily  wage  of  two  pence ;  and  finally 
chacechiens  or  inferior  grooms  with  a  wage  of  three  halfpence.  Over 
the  whole  ruled  the  Master  of  Game,  a  title  created  by  Henrj'  IV. 
as  a  mark  of  special  distinction  for  his  cousin  of  York,  a  personage 

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of  whom  we  shall  presently  have  some  more  to  say.     These  Royal 
packs  were   sent  about   the  country  in  order  to  obtain  venison  for 
the  King's  larder  in  the  Royal  Forests  ;  and  though  as  a  rule  the  hart- 
hounds  were  used  only  for  stag-hunting,  we  occasionally  come  across 
an  instance  of  buckhounds  being  used  for  that  purpose,  or,  vice  versa, 
harthounds  for  the  chase  of  the  fallow-buck.   The  principal  season 
for   this   larder-hunting  was  the  **  fat  venison  season  "  in  July  and 
August,  when  deer  were  in  prime  condition.     A  **  lardener  "  accom- 
panied these  expeditions,  his  duties  consisting  of  salting  and  packing 


the  venison  in  barrels,  for  which  he  received  a  wage  of  two  pence  a 
day.  Besides  these  at  that  period  sufficient  wages,  certain  allow- 
ances and  fees  were  attached  to  each  office.  Clothes  and  boots 
and,  when  actually  at  Court,  also  lodging  and  food  were  provided, 
and  the  skins  and  certain  minor  parts  of  the  animals  killed  were 
divided  amongst  the  staff.  When  the  establishments  were  moved 
about  the  country  from  one  forest  to  another  orders  were  sent 
by  the  King  to  the  sheriffs  of  the  counties  through  which  they 
passed  or  where  they  hunted,  commanding  them  to  pay  the  wages 
of  the  men,  the  keep  of  the  hounds,  which  usually  amounted  to 

D  D  3 

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half  a  penny  per  day  for  each  running  hound,  and  a  penny  a  day  for 
the  limers  and  greyhounds,  and  to  provide  the  necessary  means  for 
transporting  the  venison  barrels  to  the  place  where  the  Court 
happened  to  reside.  These  sums  were  usually  reimbursed  to  the 
sheriff  from  the  Royal  Exchequer ;  but  one  comes  across  numerous 
instances  of  remissness  in  this  respect,  and  consequently  refusals 
on  the  part  of  sheriffs  to  burden  themselves  with  these  payments, 
notwithstanding  that  the  order  to  do  so  was  issued  by  a  warrant 
under  the  King's  privy  seal. 

Sometimes  curious  means  were  adopted  to  pay  long-outstanding 
wages.  Thus  John  Boys,  the  King's  veuterfer,  and  Robert  Compnore, 
his  ferreter,  **  who  have  long  served  the  King  (Edward  III.)  and  the 
Black  Prince  without  receiving  aught,  whilst  the  said  John  had  in- 
curred great  expense  c\  er  the  Royal  greyhounds,  and  the  said  Robert 
had  spent  his  substance  in  the  safe-keeping  of  the  King's  ferrets  and 
hounds,"  were  given  such  sums  of  money  as  were  due  as  fines  to  the 
King  (from  the  sheriff)  for  the  escape  from  Bedford  prison  of  three 
prisoners.  In  certain  instances  old  debts  were  squared  by  giving  the 
patient  hunt-servant  a  **safe"  post,  such  as  "keeper  of  the  chase 
and  warren  "  in  some  Royal  forest,  where  the  fees  and  profits,  con- 
sisting of  the  pannage-money  which  the  surrounding  owners  of  cattle 
and  pigs  had  to  pay  for  the  privilege  of  turning  their  kine  into  the 
woods,  formed  a  substantial  income.  In  other  cases,  particularly  in 
that  of  trusted  old  servants  past  their  work,  they  were  domiciled  in 
priories  or  monasteries,  where  they  were  provided  with  the  necessaries 
of  life  free  of  charge.  Thus  ended  William  de  Husseborne,  Philip  of 
Candevere,'and  William  Twici,  orTwiti,  Edward  II. 's  famous  hunts- 
man, and  author  of  the  oldest  existing  treatise  on  English  hunting, 
penned  in  the  curious  Norman  French  which  is  still  spoken  in  the 
Channel  Islands.  There  were  other  fees  which  helped  the  pro- 
fessional hunters  to  tide  over  bad  times.  Thus  the  substantial  sura 
of  seven  shillings  and  sixpence  was  paid  to  him  who  killed  the  first 
buck  or  stag  of  the  season,  while  in  France  the  man  who  brought  the 
first  **  fraying- post,"  or  tree  against  which  stags  had  rubbed  off  the 
velvet  from  their  antlers  (which  showed  that  they  were  becoming 
'* clean"),  received  a  horse  as  present  if  he  happened  to  be  a  "gentle- 
man of  the  venery,"  and  if  he  were  a  limereror  "varlet  of  the  blood- 
hound "  he  received  a  coat. 

Another  usual  reward  for  professional  hunters  was  the  gift  of 
firewood ;  **  Henry  de  Candovre,  the  King's  huntsman,  keeping  the 
buckhounds  {canes  damericios),''  has  two  oak  trunks  for  fuel  in  1278, 
and  two  years  later  we  hear  of  a  command  to  the  sheriff  to  cause 
**  Richard  le  Sauser  and  Thomas  de  Candovere,  the  King's  huntsmen, 
to  have  six  oak  trunks  in  the  King's  woods  for  fuel."    One  of  the  most 

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desired  rewards  was  to  be  appointed  **  parker,**  for  the  perquisites  of 

this  office   seem  to  have  offered  considerable  attractions,  Harrison 

in  his  chronicles  mentioning  that  **  besides  his  salary  the  parker  hath 

of  every  deer  the  skin,  head,  numbles,  chine,  and  shoulders,  whereby 

he  that  hath  a  warrant  for  a  whole  buck  hath  in  the  end  little  more 

than  half"! 

These  professional  huntsmen  of  the  King  no  doubt  conducted 
their  sport  in  a  businesslike  manner  so  as  to  obtain  the  venison  as 
expeditiously  as  possible.     For  this  purpose  they  employed  various 


snares,  pitfalls,  and  enclosures  made  of  hurdle  fences,  which  latter 
Mrere  one  of  the  most  ancient  hunting  appurtenances  of  our  Saxon 
forefathers,  who  called  them  hayes  or  haia.  Saltatoriums  or  deer- 
leaps  were,  as  the  name  indicates,  artificially-prepared  contrivances 
A^hich  enabled  stags  to  enter  a  forest  or  park,  out  of  which  they, 
however,  could  not  escape.  Of  these  and  other  unsportsmanlike 
snares  and  traps  the  man  of  gentle  blood  made  but  scanty  use. 
Gaston  Phoebus,  that  most  famous  of  all  mediaeval  sportsmen,  and 
author  of  what  is  unquestionably  the  best  hunting  book  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  records  his  feehngs  in  the  following  words:    ''After  I  have 

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spoken  of  how  to  hunt  wild  beasts  with  stren^h  [i.e.  with  hounds]  I 
will  devise  how  one  can  take  them  by  mastery  [skill] ,  and  with  what 
engines  one  can  do  it.  For  it  seems  to  me  that  no  one  is  a  perfect 
hunter  if  he  knows  not  both  to  take  beasts  by  strength  and  with  gins; 
but  I  will  speak  of  this  unwillingly,  for  I  should  not  teach  to  take 
beasts  unless  it  be  by  nobleness  and  gentleness,  and  to  have  good 
sport,  and  that  they  be  not  killed  falsely." 

From  the  foregoing  the  reader  will  have  obtained  some  insight 
into  the  old  Norman  hunting  which  prevailed  in  England  up  to  the 


end  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  which  differed  as  does  day  from 
night  from  the  subsequent  **  game  slaughter  '*  which  became  fashion- 
able on  the  Continent  during  the  two  following  centuries,  or  from 
English  hunting  during  the  Stuart  period. 

No  work  of  recent  years,  and  certainly  no  previous  English  book, 
gives  us  a  better  picture  of  what  hunting  was  like  in  the  Middle  Ages 
than  the  recently  published  "Master  of  Game,'*  dealing  with  our 
oldest  English  hunting  book  written  by  that  **  rubustious"  Plan- 
tagenet,  Edward,  Duke  of  York,  who  fell  at  the  head  of  the  English 
advance  guard  at  Agincourt,  a.d.  141 5. 

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into  '^m^dTr^En:^^  fhe'tlct'''?  f'  '^  "'t "'*'  '  '''"^'^^^'on 
teems  bein-  exotinS'-  tf<=hnical   terms   with  which   the  book 

while    an    exc£rK  M-  """^'f  "°*"'  ""^  '"  ^"  admirable  glossary 

before  tL7e^7L'^Zt'  °'  H '  ""'t,  °"    ''""^-Z-S 
for  all    wh/fol  ^  ''  ^"  indispensable  work  of  reference 

dent    Theodore  Ron 'I   .-^  "*  of  modern  sportsmen.  Presi- 

world   has    mSe  sport  Z;^"''"^  ""  ^'^V^"^""-  '"  -hich  the  old 
interest  of  this   valu^W  ^'^^"P^*'^"  ^^  '*=  leisure,  enhances  the 

venery;   whHe  the  l".    ?  ^°"  "^ution  to  our  knowledge  of  ancient 
reproducdons     om  the  !  ?  "'  ""^'""'  Photogravure  plates, 

vi^.  "  Gaston   Ph-h    '.       '*  ^^."^"'  °^  ^"  ^"*^'^"'  hunting  books 
Nationafeof  pLttive    °"  °^  *.*^^  *-—  of  the   BiblLh^que 
those  remote  day  '  ^         "'  '  '"P''"'  '^^'^  ^^^'^^^  ^P^'"'  "^^^  like  in 

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A  CRICKET  season  immediately  following  one  distinguished  by  the 
visit  of  an  Australian  team  is  apt  to  be  regarded  with  anticipations 
of  tameness.  In  the  present  case,  however,  there  seems  little  reason 
for  such  gloomy  foreboding.  In  fact,  it  is  many  years  since  such 
alertness  has  been  noticed  in  the  spring;  for,  unlike  the  British 
Government  after  the  South  African  war,  English  cricketers  show  a 
keen  desire  to  profit  by  the  lessons  of  last  summer.  The  wide  re- 
sponse to  and  keen  discussion  of  an  article  I  contributed  to  the 
National  Review  of  last  December,  dealing  with  **  The  Waning 
Popularity  of  First-Class  Cricket,"  suggests  that  on  all  sides  there 
is  a  general  desire  to  remove  the  imperfections  threatening  the 
attractiveness  of  the  game. 

The  most  serious  contemporary  matter  is  the  increasing  pro- 
portion of  drawn  games.  Last  season  the  Australians  drew  exactly 
fifty  per  cent,  of  their  matches,  and  out  of  113  contests  in  the  county 
championships  55  were  unfinished.  There  is  no  need  to  dilate  upon 
the  demoralising  effect  an  evitable  and  useless  draw  has  upon 
cricketers  and  spectators.  More  interesting  is  it  to  note  that  Essex 
have  proposed  to  the  committee  of  M.C.C.  to  adopt  the  scoring 
favoured  by  the  minor  counties.  Upon  that  proposal  Mr.  O.  R. 
Borrodaile,  the  energetic  secretary  of  the  eastern  county,  in  the 
course  of  a  long  conversation  with  me,  observed  that  though  he 
does  not  affirm  this  provides  a  final  settlement,  yet  it  is  at  least 
an  endeavour  towards  obtaining  an  augmented  number  of  decisive 
results,  and  whilst  open  to  modifications  if  practice  suggests  im- 
provement on  theory,  he  believes  it  will  tend  to  brighten  cricket. 

The  system  of  scoring  thus  advocated  is  to  give  three  points  for 
a  win  outright,  and  one  for  a  result  decided  on  the  first  innings. 
Mr.  Borrodaile  himself  confesses  he  would  like  to  deduct  a  point  for 

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every  draw,  but  that  is  at  present  only  an  Elysian  dream.  His 
theory  is  that,  as  matters  now  stand,  if  a  day  and  a  half  has  been 
wasted  by  rain,  to  start  a  county  match  is  virtually  waste  of  time, 
but  under  his  modification  a  keen  contest  could  be  waged. 

No  one  in  England  is  so  competent  to  offer  an  opinion  as 
Mr,  A.  M.  Miller,  who  takes  such  an  active  share  in  the  cricket  of 
the  minor  counties.  He  writes  :  '*  There  are  a  good  few  cricketers 
playing  for  minor  counties  now  who  have  had  a  great  deal  of  ex- 
perience in  first-class  cricket,  and  they  are  pretty  well  unanimous 
that  the  system  of  scoring  points  for  a  win  on  the  first  innings  is  a 
^reat  improvement  on  the  plan  by  which  the  first-class  counties 
decide  their  competition.  There  is,  however,  a  division  of  opinion 
as  to  whether  the  value  of  points  for  a  win  on  the  first  innings 
should  be  two  and  for  a  completed  match  three,  or  two  and  five, 
or  one  and  three,  respectively.  This  is  not  an  argument  against  the 
system,  but  merely  about  the  ratio,  and  it  is  certain  that  the  minor 
counties  will  not  go  back  to  the  methods  of  the  first-class  counties, 
which  they  used  up  to  the  end  of  1901,  as  the  players  prefer  the 
new  system."  This  was  written  before  the  Essex  proposition  was 
announced,  and  Mr.  Borrodaile  regards  the  ratio  as  unimportant,  so 
long  as  the  new  principle  is  introduced.  Among  the  amateurs  who 
last  year  participated  in  the  minor  competition,  having  already  had 
experience  of  first-class  county  matches,  may  be  cited  Messrs.  J.  H. 
and  W.  H.  Brain,  P.  J.  de  Paravicini,  A.  C.  M.  Croome,  T.  N.  Per- 
kins, and  A.  K.  Watson. 

Another  suggestion  forwarded  to  me  by  a  member  of  the  Wel- 
lington Club  is  that  a  side  should  be  compelled  to  declare  as  soon  as  it 
has  obtained  a  lead  of  250  runs.  He  adds :  **  This  would  be  unpopular 
with  batting-average-mongers,  but  it  involves  no  useless  leather- 
hunting,  and  keeps  the  game  always  alive."  Without  agreeing  that 
it  is  feasible,  the  present  writer  at  least  thinks  it  is  a  proposal 
sufficiently  interesting  to  be  mentioned.  It  may  be  added  that  in 
a  very  large  batch  of  letters  from  known  and  unknown  corre- 
spondents, those  not  officially  connected  with  a  county  executive 
unanimously  condemn  the  tea  interval. 

Naturally  the  views  on  the  game  of  the  English  captain  must 
be  of  great  interest,  and  in  a  letter  to  me  the  Hon.  F.  S.  Jackson 
vvrrites:  **  In  my  humble  opinion  the  popularity  of  first-class  cricket 
has  been  at  its  very  top  during  the  last  few  years,  and  it  has  been 
at  a  height  that  could  not  be  maintained,  and  must  necessarily 
decline  to  a  more  normal  state;  but  at  the  same  time  I  believe  the 
section  of  the  cricket-loving  public  is  as  large  as  ever.*'  Most  de- 
cidedly :  but  is  it  not  the  very  love  of  cricket  that  keeps  spectators 
a^vay  from  matches  in  which  leg-play  and  the  abuse  of  the  off-ball, 

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as  well  as  lack  of  a  probable  definite  result,  rob  the  exhibition  of  all 
genuine  sport  ? 

The  opinion  of  the  Hon.  F.  S.  Jackson  was  displayed  in  a  number 
of  speeches  of  a  distinctly  frank  nature  last  autumn,  but  he  did  not 
carry  that  frankness  so  far  as  to  tell  us  who  were  the  two  amateurs 
who  wrote  asking  to  be  played  for  England,  for  though  the  identity 
of  one  is  an  open  secret,  that  of  the  other  forms  a  myster>\  His 
optimism  is  curiously  at  variance  with  the  balance-sheets  of  quite  a 
number  of  first-class  counties,  which  only  reveal  satisfactory  results 
because  of  the  receipts  obtained  from  the  Australian  tour. 
Warwickshire,  for  example,  shows  a  deficit  of  3^132,  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  the  club  received  3^315  as  a  share  of  the  Test 
Match  receipts.  Gloucestershire,  Somersetshire,  Derbyshire,  Hamp- 
shire, and  Essex  could  also  give  reports  fraught  with  anxiety.  The 
financial  basis  is  not  the  sporting  one,  but  so  long  as  cricket  is 
avowedly  run  on  the  gate-money  basis,  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that 
it  refutes  the  satisfactory  view  of  the  English  captain. 

Absolute  apathy  has  been  the  attitude  at  home  towards  the  tour 
of  the  moderate  M.C.C.  team  in  South  Africa.  Mr.  G.  A.  Brooking 
mentions  in  that  capital  periodical  The  A  merican  CricheUr  that  an 
article  was  published  in  a  London  weekly  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  P.  F. 
Warner,  in  which  he  stated  that  the  team  was  stronger  than  any 
eleven  that  had  yet  appeared  from  England.  This  is  in  marked 
contrast  to  the  general  feeling  that  the  side  is  not  sufficiently  repre- 
sentative to  make  Test  Matches  satisfactory,  considering  that  the 
^ame  is  progressing  in  South  Africa  in  a  most  marked  degree. 
Mr.  J.  N.  Crawford,  Denton,  Hayes,  Haigh,  and  Blythe,  fine  as 
they  are,  have  not  colleagues  worthy  of  places  in  the  England 
team  at  home.  This  was  in  no  sense  the  fault  of  the  energetic 
executive  of  M.C.C,  but  the  result  is  the  curiously  marked  indif- 
ference. Naturally  the  inference  is  that  the  next  South  African 
side  that  comes  home  will  find  the  more  hearty  welcome.  Already 
one  new  cricketer  has  been  discovered  in  Nourse,  who  bowls  well, 
his  best  ball  coming  from  leg,  whilst  his  left-handed  batting  is  com- 
pared by  a  member  of  the  M.C.C.  side  to  that  of  Mr.  Darling  or 
Mr.  Hill.  By  the  way,  it  is  notable  that  in  the  current  Australian 
season  the  chief  feature  is  the  great  batting  of  Messrs.  McAlister  and 
Mackay,  both  candidates  for  the  trip  to  England  last  summer,  but 
rejected  in  favour  of  Messrs.  Gregory  and  Hopkins. 

My  warmest  thanks  are  due  to  the  officials  whose  generous 
kindness  has  enabled  me  to  give  the  following  facts,  though  in  no 
way  must  they  be  held  responsible  for  the  opinions  advanced. 

At  Lord's,  Hardstaff  of  Notts,  Reeves  and  Buckenham  of  Essex, 
and  Head  of  Wiltshire,  have  been  added  to  the  ground-staff.    No 

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changes  have  been  made  in  the  buildings  round  the  ground  except 
the  pulling  down  of  the  iron  structure  used  as  a  refreshment  bar  on 
the  practice  ground.  The  counties  which  meet  M.C.C.  at  St.  John's 
Wood  are  Notts,  Yorkshire,  Derbyshire,  Kent,  Leicestershire,  and 
Worcestershire,  whilst  the  usual  trials  precede  the  University  match 
^vhich  begins  on  Thursday,  July  5,  Gentlemen  v.  Players  being 
on  the  following  Monday,  and  Eton  v.  Harrow  on  Friday,  the  13th. 
The  West  Indians  play  M.C.C.  immediately  afterwards,  having 
met  Lord  Brackley's  West  Indian  team  on  June  18.  The  Whit 
Monday  match,  which,  as  usual,  is  Middlesex  v.  Somersetshire,  is 
for  the  benefit  of  V.  A.  Titmarsh,  an  old  and  valued  servant  of  the 
club,  both  as  cricketer  and  umpire.  Few  professionals  have  ever 
been  more  widely  and  deservedly  respected.  Like  Diver  and 
Nichols,  he  first  played  as  an  amateur.  The  long  programme  at 
Lord's  deserves  special  appreciation  for  the  increased  number  of  such 
matches  as  those  of  Gentlemen  of  M.C.C.  v.  Household  Brigade, 
R.E.  and  R.N.,  as  well  as  fixtures  with  Royal  Academy  and  Public 
Schools,  and  one  between  Authors  and  Actors. 

Dr.  W.  G.  Grace  writes  that  the  London  County  Cricket  Club 
has  arranged  a  long  series  on  the  same  lines  as  last  year.  Although 
not  able  to  afford  many  first-class  matches,  out  and  home  will  be 
played  under  the  title  of  Gentlemen  of  England  v.  Cambridge 
University,  an  out  match  with  Oxford,  the  West  Indians  will  open 
their  tour  at  the  Crystal  Palace,  and  Surrey  will  be  encountered  at 
the  Oval  on  Easter  Monday.  Having  asked  the  G.O.M.  of  cricket, 
who  has  such  a  wonderful  appreciation  of  young  players,  if  he  can 
commend  anyone,  he  answers,  "  A.  Marshall,  who  was  engaged  last 
season  and  this  at  the  Palace,  and  who  is  qualifying  for  Surrey, 
having  been  born  in  Queensland,  is  one  of  the  finest  all-round 
cricketers  I  have  ever  seen.  He  made  over  a  centur)'  seven  times  for 
London  County,  is  a  fair  bowler,  and  a  good  field." 

Mr.  M.  W.  Payne  is  an  optimistic  secretary  to  Cambridge 
University,  for  he  concludes  a  particularly  incisive  report  with  : 
**  Does  this  impress  you  that  Cambridge  will  beat  Oxford  ?  I  don't 
think  we  shall  lose  many  matches.'*  The  prospects  are  unusually 
bright,  for  there  are  nine  old  choices  available  for  1906,  as  well  as 
Mr.  Hopley,  who  received  his  blue  in  1904.  Mr.  Eyre  is  the 
captain,  and  Mr.  Payne  will  of  course  keep  wicket.  To  support 
these  two  batsmen  the  chief  run-getters  will  be  Messrs.  Colbeck, 
Young,  Keigwin,  and  Page.  In  bowling,  Messrs.  Napier  and 
Morcom  will  lead  off.  The  need  will  be  to  strengthen  the  attack, 
even  if  Mr.  Hopley  returns  to  form.  Mr.  H.  Mainprice  should 
stand  a  good  chance,  as  he  is  also  a  beautiful  field  and  neat  bat. 
Mr.  W.  P.  Harrison  should  also  get  a  careful  trial.     Other  Seniors 

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are  Mr.  C.   Palmer,  who  hardly  seems  as  sound   as  he  should  be 
after  so  much  coaching,  Mr.   R.   E.  H.   Baily  and    Mr.   C.  R.  W. 
Magnay,  both  good  bats.     So  few  vacancies,  however,  imply  that  if 
the  Blues  play  well  scant  opportunities  come  to  others.     Of  the 
Freshmen  I  would  cite  three — Mr.  J.  J.  Reunert  of  Harrow,  who 
scored  92  out  of  139  in  75  minutes  against  Eton  ;  Mr.  J.  C.  Buchanan 
of  Charterhouse,  who  made  54  and    139  v.  Westminster,  as  well 
as  70  V.  Wellington,  after  which  he  took  five  wickets  for  25 ;  and 
Mr.  K.  G.  MacLeod  of  Fettes,  who,  besides  being  a  fine  field,  had 
an  aggregate  of  500  and  an  average  of  30 — equal  to  50  on  English 
wickets — whilst  he  claimed   50  wickets  for  11  runs  apiece.      The 
ground  bowlers  will  include  Cox,  Bland,  and  Reeves.     The  home 
matches    are    with     Yorkshire,    Northants,     Surrey,    Gentlemen, 
Middlesex,  and  Gloucestershire;  out-fixtures:  Gentlemen  at  Crystal 
Palace,  Sussex,  M.C.C.  and  Ground,  Surrey,  and  Oxford,  followed 
by  the  usual  visit  to  Liverpool. 

Mr.  E.  L.  Wright,  as  secretary  for  Oxford,  fears  he  has  very 
little  information  to  give  as  to  promising  players.  Mr.  W.  S.  Bird, 
the  wicket-keeper,  is  the  new  captain — thus  occupying  the  ideal 
position  for  the  leader — and  Mr.  Wright  himself  is  so  fine  a 
hitter  that  with  a  little  care  he  ought  to  make  a  great  bat.  The 
other  old  Blues  are  Messrs.  E.  G.  Martin,  G.  T.  Branston, 
N.  R.  Udal,  and  G.  N.  Foster ;  the  Hon.  C.  N.  Bruce,  whose  illness 
last  summer  deprived  his  University  of  the  best  public-school  bat 
of  1904,  will  probably  be  fit  to  play  this  year,  and  his  form  will  be 
watched  with  great  interest,  for  Mr.  Laver  the  Australian  expressed 
the  opinion  that  he  had  hardly  a  superior  in  England.  The 
other  Seniors  certainly  contain  little  of  promise.  Whilst  Mr.  E.  L. 
Wright  has  not  yet  heard  of  a  slow  bowler  among  the  Freshmen, 
I  should  prophesy  that  Mr.  E.  B.  Carpenter  from  Winchester 
will  probably  be  the  best  available.  In  Lord  Somers,  Charter- 
house sends  a  lively  if  uncertain  hitter,  somewhat  of  the  stamp  of 
Lord  George  Scott ;  and  Eton  provides  one  bat,  particularly 
fine  on  the  leg-side,  in  Mr.  J.  J.  Astor,  who  should  be  care- 
fully coached  in  playing  off- balls  with  more  decision.  The  home 
matches  are  with  the  Authentics,  Gentlemen,  Lancashire,  M.C.C. 
and  Ground,  Yorkshire,  and  Free  Foresters.  On  tour  will  be 
met  Worcestershire,  Surrey,  Sussex,  M.C.C.  and  Ground,  and 

A  learned  expert  has  observed  to  me  that  Yorkshire  will 
shortly  come  toppling  down,  because  all  the  best  cricketers  are 
now  seniors,  and  he  further  ventured  on  a  comparison  with  the 
fate  of  Notts  at  one  period.  On  the  other  hand  Mr.  F.  C.  Toone 
writes :  **  Of  course,  with  such  promising  players  as  Rothery,  Grim- 

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shaw,    Rudstone,   Wainwright,   and    Wilkinson,  Yorkshire   is   not 

likely  to  fall  off.     All  these  are  fast  approaching  the  high  standard 

of  county  cricket.      Still,  there  is  just  the  want  of  a  5'oung  fast 

bowler.      Our  programme    extends  from    May  3,  when    we    meet 

South  Wales  at  Cardiff,  to  September  i,  with  only  three  days'  rest 

on  the  date  of  Gentlemen  v.  Players  at  Lord's.     It  should  be  noted 

that  this  very  large  programme  is  arranged  for  the  benefit  of  county 

cricket  generally,  for  by  playing  some  weaker  counties  it  is  felt  a 

great  service  is  being  rendered  by  Yorkshire  to  the  game,  and  thus 

the  great  strain  placed  upon  the  players  is  somewhat  compensated 

for.     I  have  pleasure  in  saying  that  all  the  old  players  are  available." 

To  this  I  would  add  that  I  have  italicised  all,  because  this  implies 

the  official  denial  to  the  rumours  of  one  retirement.     How  much  the 

Hon.  F.  S.  Jackson  will  play  it  is  impossible  to  add.     Lord  Hawke 

has  booked  his  return  passage  from  Bombay  for  April  16.     Of  the 

above-mentioned  young  players,  though  all  are  useful,  only  Rothery 

as  yet  looks  like  taking  front  rank.      The   balance  sheet  shows  a 

profit  of  3^1,117. 

Mr.  T.  Matthews  sends  a  flourishing  account  of  Lancashire : 
**  Our  heavy  fixture  list  includes  an  encounter  with  Oxford  for  the 
first  time  for  many  years.  Tyldesley  takes  the  Yorkshire  match  in 
August  for  his  benefit.  Our  second  eleven  has  entered  the  Minor 
Counties  Competition.  At  Old  Traflford,  where  great  changes  are 
being  made,  ;^i,ooo  is  expended  over  new  stands.  Mr.  A.  C.  Mac- 
Laren  is  coming  to  live  in  the  North,  and  will  again  captain  our 
side,  but  we  shall  be  without  Mr.  H.  G.  Garnett.  We  have  hopes 
among  the  younger  men  of  Harry  and  Rowlands,  and  there  are 
several  other  promising  colts  on  the  staff.''  To  these  observations 
may  be  added  that  Cook,  the  new  formidable  fast  bowler,  will  be 
available  for  the  early  matches.  Mr.  W.  Brearley  announced  his 
retirement,  but  it  is  permissible  to  doubt  whether  so  keen  a 
cricketer  will  thus  prematurely  close  his  career. 

The  only  other  county  which  has  an  equally  extensive  pro- 
gramme is  Surrey;  but  more  than  one  uncertainty  renders  the 
immediate  outlook  dubious.  The  splendid  work  done  by  Lord 
Dalmeny,  both  as  a  captain  and  fine  hitter,  may  possibly  be  arrested 
by  his  new  Parliamentary  duties.  Nor  is  anything  officially  known 
about  Mr.  J.  N.  Crawford,  the  greatest  public-school  cricketer  since 
Mr.  A.  G.  Steel  and  the  Hon.  F.  S.Jackson.  In  both  cases,  however, 
hopeful  views  are  held  by  Mr.  C.  W.  Alcock,  now  happily  much 
stronger,  as  his  innumerable  friends  will  be  glad  to  learn.  No  new 
amateurs  are  known  to  the  executive,  but  Mr.  W.  W.  Read  has  again 
been  offered  the  post  of  cricket  coach.  Lees  is,  of  course,  the  Hirst 
of  the  South,  and  Mr.  Knox  should  improve  on  his  fine  work  in  1905. 

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Bale  is  a  capital  reserve  wicket-keeper;  but  apart  from  Marshall,  who 
qualifies  in  1907,  there  does  not  appear  to  be  a  great  deal  of  unde- 
veloped talent. 

Mr.  Gregor  MacGregor  hopes  to  play  for  Middlesex  in  a  few 
matches,  while  Mr.  B.  J.  T.  Bosanquet,  report  says,  "  will  have  to 
stick  to  work."     Otherwise  the  county  team  will  present  a  strong 
phalanx  in  August,  and  rather  a  scratch    appearance   in    some   of 
the  earlier  fixtures.     Mr.  G.  W.  Beldam  is  in  much  better  health, 
and  Mr.  P.  F.  Warner  is  keeping  in  practice  at  the  Cape.     It  is 
earnestly  to  be  hoped  that  Trott  may  have  the  good  sense  to  act 
on  the  advice  so  freely  given  to  him.     Mignon,  of  course,  is  quite 
a  beginner,  and  it  is  difficult  to  decide  whether  he  is  useful  or  not. 
In  1907  Mr.  E.  H.  D.  Sewell  will  play  under  the  amateur  status, 
and  Vogler  will  be  qualified.     Certainly  Middlesex  is  the  embodi- 
ment of  Imperial  Federation  in  cricket.     The  same  nine  counties 
are  again  met,  with  an  extra  match  against  Cambridge.    Another 
had   been    arranged    with   the  West    Indians,  but   this   has   been 
dropped.  Lord  Brackley's  team  filling  the  gap  at  Lord's. 

The  Sussex  team  will  be  again  under  the  leadership  of  Mr. 
C.  B.  Fry,  but  unfortunately  the  two  young  amateurs,  Messrs.  H.  P. 
Chaplin  and  K.  O.  Goldie,  have  returned  to  military  life  in  India. 
There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  K.  S.  Ranjitsinhji — with  whom 
Lord  Hawke  has  been  staying — will  again  be  in  England  and  able 
to  play  regularly.  Two  professionals  become  qualified  by  residence. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  season  R.  Relf,  younger"  brother  of  the 
valued  professional,  will  show  what  he  is  like  as  a  batsman,  and 
at  the  end  of  May  the  Australian  Dwyer  should  appreciably 
strengthen  the  bowling,  besides  proving  a  determined  run-getter. 
The  programme  is  smaller  than  in  previous  seasons,  for  the 
encounters  with  Leicestershire  and  Northants  have  been  dropped, 
and,  as  usual,  Worcestershire  is  not  met.  Two  county  matches  will 
be  played  at  Hastings  ;  for  the  first  time  a  county  fixture  will  take 
place  at  Chichester,  it  having  been  decided  to  play  Hampshire 
there,  whilst  Oxford  University  will  probably  be  opposed  at  East- 
bourne, Cambridge  as  usual  being  met  at  Brighton. 

Lord  Lilford  is  apparently  effecting  for  Northamptonshire  what 
Mr.  C.  E.  Green  has  so  munificently  done  for  Essex.  At  his  ex- 
pense Mead  and  Thompson  have  been  engaged  as  coaches,  the  latter 
being  awarded  forty  pounds  as  compensation  for  not  being  allowed 
to  go  to  South  Africa.  An  innovation  is  a  county  match  at  Peter- 
borough, Warwickshire  being  the  visitors,  whilst  an  out-fixture 
with  Cambridge  University  is  also  new.  The  other  counties  to  be 
met  are  Surrey,  Worcestershire,  Derbyshire,  Hants,  Essex,  Notts, 
and     Leicestershire,   whilst   the   West    Indians    will    be    given    an 

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opportunity  of  repeating  their   success   of   1900,   when   they  won 
their   first  English  victory  on  the  county  ground. 

The   Kent   captain    expects   to   have  the   support   of  all  who 

assisted  last  year,  and  as  usual  the  executive  is  most  energetic.    The 

Tonbridge  ground  has  been  purchased  for  3^4,300,  and  by  moving 

the  pavilion  another  acre  will  be  added  to  the  playing  area,  while 

the  size  of  the  entrance  has  been  doubled.    Sussex  and  Lancashire 

take  part  in  the  Canterbury  Festival,  Hampshire   and    Middlesex 

in  the  Tonbridge  Week.     It  may  be  mentioned  that  Huish's  benefit 

yielded  3^675.     The  Kent  Nursery,  which  has  already  produced  such 

excellent   players,   appears   to  possess  valuable  batting  recruits  in 

Hubble  and  Munds,  and  promising  all-round  cricketers  in  Hardinge, 

Skinner,  and  Woolley. 

The  Warwickshire  eleven  will  be  the  same  as  in  recent  summers 
except  that  Mr.  A.  C.  S.  Glover  may  appear  more  frequently,  but 
Mr.  F.  R.  Loveitt  does  not  appear  to  be  available.  Smith  is  deputy 
wicket-keef)er,  and  Weldrick,  a  batsman  born  in  Yorkshire,  will 
probably  obtain  a  trial.  Essex  and  the  Universities  have  not  re- 
newed their  fixtures.  The  home  match  with  Northampton  will  be 
at   Coventry,  the  rest  at  Birmingham. 

Mr.  G.  L.  Jessop  reports  succinctly  re  Gloucestershire :  *'  Our 
side  will  be  practically  the  same  as  last  year.  No  new  discoveries 
have  been  made  of  any  great  batsmen  or  bowlers.  The  Cambridge 
match  is  continued.  Taking  into  account  the  poor  report  re 
balance-sheet  that  some  of  the  other  counties  have  to  bewail,  we 
have  no  reason  to  be  displeased." 

Mr.  Murray  Anderson  writes:  ''Somersetshire  plays  the  usual 
counties,  meeting  five  at  Taunton  and  four  (Gloucestershire,  Yorkshire, 
Sussex,  and  Lancashire)  at  Bath.  All  our  last  season's  amateurs 
are  available  again,  Messrs.  L.  C.  H.  Palairet  and  P.  R.  Johnson  as 
often  as  the  claims  of  work  will  allow.  Messrs.  Phillips  and  Daniell 
having  returned  from  abroad,  will  again  play  regularly  under 
Mr.  S.  M.  J.  Woods,  captain  for  the  thirteenth  year.  We  have  a  new 
professional  bowler,  a  younger  brother  of  Cranfield,  qualified,  and 
we  hear  of  some  young  amateurs  coming  on.  Our  financial  prospects 
were  not  good  last  year,  but  we  hope  to  put  that  all  right  this  season." 

Mr.  Turner  observes  that  it  is  too  early  to  form  any  idea  of  what 
colts  would  be  of  service  to  Notts,  who  have  all  their  team  of  last 
summer  available,  with  some  likely  recruits  on  the  ground-staff, 
and  the  same  list  of  county  fixtures  as  in  1905. 

Leicestershire  has  substituted  engagements  with  Kent  for  those 
vvith  Sussex,  and  again  enjoys  the  financial  advantage  of  playing 
home  engagements  on  both  Bank  Holidays.  Pougher  will  still  coach. 
Several  young  cricketers  of  promise  are  on  the  ground-staff,  including 

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Hampson,  a  useful  second-string  wicket-keeper;  Palmer,  who  is 
left-handed;  Curtis,  Looms,  and  Astell.  All  last  year's  professionals 
and  amateurs  are  again  available.  Thanks  to  the  share  in  the  profits 
of  Test  Matches  amounting  to  £315,  a  balance  of  £ioy  is  shown, 
thus  reducing  the  debt  due  to  the  bank  to  3^763. 

Essex  is  troubled  with  lack  of  funds.     On  the  question  of  Mead 
it  is  obvious  that  until  he  approaches  the  committee  the  latter  can 
do  nothing ;  but  as  his  eight  wickets  in  first-class  cricket  last  year 
cost  25I   runs,  it  may  be  that  some  of  his  old  skill  is  lost.     Mr. 
Borrodaile  denies  that  the  bowling  of  Essex  is  weak,  and  lays  all 
the  blame  on  the  fielding.     As  usual,  Mr.  C.  E.  Green  generously 
defrays  the  expenses  of  Peel  and  Lockwood,  who  are  to  coach  before 
the  regular  season.     Much  is  expected  from  Connor,  a  fast  right- 
handed  bowler,  said  to  be  alert  in  the  slips.     Benham,  who  is  coach 
at  Winchester,  with  additional  opportunities  should  do  tetter,  and 
J.  Freeman  is  a  reserve  wicket-keeper  of  promise.     Major  Turner 
and  Rev.  F.  H.  Gillingham  will  more  frequently  appear,  and  the  rest 
of  the  team  remain  undaunted  by  reverses  in  excess  of  victoria. 
The  matches  with  Warwickshire  have  been  dropped,  Gloucestershire 
and  Northants  being  met  instead.     The  West  Indians  play  their  first 
county  match  at  Leyton,  and  the  out-fixture  with  Kent  is  at  Tun- 
bridge  Wells  instead  of  at  Canterbury. 

"Derbyshire,'*  Mr.  Barclay  Delacombe  writes,  "will  have  to 
rely  chiefly  on  the  same  eleven,  but  it  is  hoped  Messrs.  A.  E.  Lawton 
and  G.  Curgenven  will  be  able  to  play  more  regularly.  Though  no 
colts  of  great  promise  are  in  view,  there  is  every  reason  to  expect  a 
marked  development  in  Cadman,  while  Norton  looks  like  making  a 
really  first-class  player.  Derbyshire  welcomes  Yorkshire,  Surrey,  and 
Northants  at  Chesterfield,  Leicestershire  at  Glossop,  and  the  other 
counties  who  were  encountered  last  summer  at  Derby.  A  greatly 
increased  subscription  list  is  anticipated,  which  will  permit  more  to 
be  done  in  the  way  of  encouraging  young  players,  of  which  there 
are  many  of  promise." 

With  the  possible  exception  of  Captain  Greig  and  Mr.  G.  N. 
Bignell,  who  will  both  be  in  India,  Hampshire  will  have  all  last  year's 
cricketers  available.  Mead,  a  left-handed  slow  bowler,  and  Bad- 
cock,  who  is  fast  right-handed,  will  receive  trials,  and  are  rather  con- 
fidently expected  to  strengthen  the  attack.  The  Hon.  C.  N.  Bruce, 
of  Oxford  University,  will  assist  as  often  as  he  can.  The  Army  will 
be  encountered  at  Aldershot,  where  Surrey  will  also  be  met ;  War- 
wickshire plays  at  Basingstoke,  Kent  at  Bournemouth,  Somerset- 
shire, Sussex,  and  Worcestershire  at  Portsmouth ;  Yorkshire,  Derby- 
shire, Northants,  Leicestershire,  and  West  Indians  at  Southampton. 

Mr.  A.  M.  Miller  has  most  kindly  responded  to  my  request  to 

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write   upon   the   subject   with   which    he   is   so   identified,  to   the 
following  effect : — 

•*  The  Minor  Counties  Association,  which  includes  the  second 
elevens  of  Surrey  and  Yorkshire,  and  will  this  year,  for  the  first 
time,  include  that  of  Lancashire,  is  yearly  attracting  more  attention. 
It  was  founded  in  1895,  and  there  were  then  seven  counties  playing 
in  its  competition  ;  in  1906  there  will  be  twenty  competitors,  including 
the  three  second  elevens  just  mentioned.  It  is  unsatisfactory  in  regard 
to  the  system  of  arranging  matches,  as  at  present  a  county  may  pick 
and  choose  its  opponents,  and  by  avoiding  the  stronger  counties  and 
selecting  the  weak  it  can  finish  high  up  in  the  table  of  results,  while 
the  stronger  counties,  by  playing  each  other,  have  not  scored  so 
many  points,  and  are,  consequently,  not  at  the  top ;  this,  however, 
will  be  righted  shortly,  as  at  the  last  meeting  it  was  only  postponed 
as  all  the  counties  had  made  their  fixtures  for  1906.  There  are  two 
schemes  to  select  from.  The  one  discussed  at  the  annual  meeting 
divides  the  counties  into  two  groups  of  ten  each,  which  play  each 
other  once  during  the  season,  with  a  final  match  between  the  top 
counties  of  each  group.  The  other  advocates  a  system  by  which 
the  counties  are  divided  into  four  groups,  each  county  playing  two 
matches  with  each  other,  the  top  county  of  each  group  to  play  in  a 
semi-final  match,  and  the  two  winners  to  play  a  final,  and  the  winner 
to  be  the  champion  county  of  the  second  division.  Which  of  these 
two  schemes  will  be  adopted  it  is  hard  to  say,  for  both  have  their 
respective  merits,  but  on  the  whole  the  four-group  seems  to  be  the 
easiest  to  work.  A  few  of  the  competitors  do  not  welcome  the 
second  elevens  of  first-class  counties  in  the  competition,  and  think 
that  if  they  do  enter  they  ought  to  have  a  separate  supply  of 
cricketers  and  not  play  those  who  are  on  the  borderland  of  the  first- 
class  eleven.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  counties  holding  this 
opinion  do  not  play  the  second  elevens ;  but  it  is  the  wish  of  the 
majority  of  the  minor  counties  to  play  against  the  best  sides  they 
can,  and  thus  try  to  improve  their  standard  of  cricket.  Although 
Surrey  second  have  been  in  the  competition  since  1899  and  York- 
shire second  since  1901,  neither  have  yet  succeeded  in  being  at  the  top 
of  the  table  of  results.  The  wickets  in  minor  county  cricket  are  not 
on  the  whole  as  good  as  the  first-class  counties  play  on,  as  they 
have  not  the  money  to  spend  on  the  up-keep  of  their  grounds;  but 
they  are  improving  steadily,  and  there  is  little  to  be  found  fault  wiih 
in  this  respect.  The  umpiring,  which  in  the  old  days  before  inde- 
pendent umpires  were  adopted  was  most  unsatisfactory,  is  now  quite 
the  reverse. 

"  One  frequently  hears  discussed  the  respective  merits  of  some 
minor  county  and  those  towards  the  bottom  of  the  first  class,  and 

MO.  cxxix.    VOL.  XXII. — April  1906  H  E 

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the  advent  of  Northamptonshire  in  the  first  division  was  watched  with 
the  greatest  interest.  Considering  that  they  finished  above  three 
others  in  the  list  in  1905,  it  shows  that  there  is  not  such  a  wide  gap 
between  the  tail  of  the  first  division  and  the  top  of  the  second. 
Personally  I  think  that  the  standard  of  first-class  cricket  should  be 
judged  by  the  first  dozen  on  the  list,  and  not  the  last  five.  Although 
it  would  be  considered  hard  lines  to  turn  down  into  the  second  divi- 
sion some  of  the  first-class  counties,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that 
it  is  equally  hard  on  any  minor  county  that  is  better  than  some  of 
the  existing  first-class  counties  to  keep  it  from  promotion.  There 
ought  to  be,  and  no  doubt  will  be  in  the  future,  some  plan  devised 
by  which  a  minor  county  can  obtain  promotion  by  merit." 

The  last  suggestive  paragraph  is  far  too  pregnant  to  be  adequately 
dealt  with  towards  the  close  of  a  lengthy  article  hampered  by  severe 
compression.  It  is,  however,  possible  that  ultimately  there  may  be 
three  classes:  (a)  the  first  ten  who  may  compete  for  the  county 
championship ;  (6)  the  second  eight  composed  of  the  last  six  of  the 
present  first-class  counties  and  the  two  highest  of  the  present  minor 
counties,  who  would  compete  for  the  second-rank  championship,  both 
these  classes  .to  be  included  in  first-class  averages;  (c)  the  remainder 
of  those  engaged  in  the  Minor  Counties  Competition.  If  the  bottom 
county  of  one  class  played  a  match  with  the  top  county  of  the  class 
below  for  their  respective  qualification  in  the  ensuing  year,  a  great 
stimulus  might  be  given  to  the  whole  tournament  of  English  county 
cricket,  whilst  the  strain  of  too  many  matches  would  be  perceptibly 
relieved,  as  no  shire  would  have  more  than  eighteen  championship 

Finally  must  be  dealt  with  the  prospects  of  the  forthcoming 
West  Indian  tour.  It  is  open  to  doubt  if  the  committee  of  the 
M.C.C.  will  decide  that  any  of  their  fixtures  shall  count  in  first-class 
averages,  but  considerable  interest  will,  in  any  case,  be  excited  by 
their  visit.  On  the  last  tour,  in  1900,  five  victories  could  be  set 
against  eight  defeats,  but  Lord  Brackley's  Team  in  the  West  Indies 
in  the  spring  of  1905  had  to  put  up  with  three  disasters  against 
eleven  successes.  On  the  present  occasion,  Mr.  F.  E.  Lacey  has 
arranged  a  capital  programme,  commencing  at  the  Crystal  Palace, 
against  London  County,  on  June  11,  and  concluding  on  August  18 
at  Northampton.  An  England  Eleven  is  met  at  Blackpool,  Lord 
Brackley's  Team  and  M.C.C.  and  Ground  at  Lord's,  and  the  following 
first-class  counties  have  home  engagements  with  them  : — Essex, 
Surrey,  Hampshire,  Kent,  Derbyshire,  Yorkshire,  Leicestershire, 
Northamptonshire,  and  Notts.  The  other  games  are  with  a  Minor 
Counties  Combined  Eleven  at  Ealing,  Wiltshire,  Northumberland 
and  Durham,  Norfolk,  South  Wales,  and  Scotland. 

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The  Sports  Sub-Committee  of  the  West  India  Club,  acting  in 

co-operation  with  the  West  Indies  and  with  Mr.  F.  E.  Lacey,  have 

obtained  some  guarantees  as  well  as  generous  assistance  from  the 

counties.     Moreover,  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  gentlemen 

playing  for  the  Islands  are  in  the  truest  sense  bond-fide  amateurs,  who 

will  only  receive  their  bare  expenses  while  on  the  tour.    Though  not 

yet  appointed,  it  is  probable  that  Mr.  A.  E.  Harrigan,  the  captain  of 

Trinidad,  will  officiate  in  that  capacity  for  the  team.     He  is  a  big 

hitter,  who  never  considers  he  has  done  himself  justice  until  he  has 

hit  a  six.     Burton,  the  black  bowler  from  Demerara,  who  was  the 

best  on  the  last  tour,  is  coming  again,  this  time  with  Cumberbatch, 

another  bowler  of  colour,  right-handed  medium-paced,  considered 

the  pick  of  Trinidad.     These  two  will  bear  the  brunt  of  the  attack, 

Avith  Mr.  S.  Smith  (a  slow  left-handed  bowler  who  took  six  wickets 

for  17  runs  v.  Barbadoes)  and  Mr.  R.  Ollivierre  as  chief  changes. 

The  latter,  a  brother  of  the  amateur  now  playing  for  Derbyshire, 

and  in   style  modelled  on  him,  much  impressed   Lord   Brackley's 

Team  when  he  scored  99  and  took  seven  for  38  and  four  for  19. 

The  last  tour  suffered  from  the  absence  of  Mr.  H.  B.  G.  Austin, 
ivho  was  serving  in  South  Africa.  We  shall  now  see  the  most  grace- 
ful bat  in  Trinidad,  who  scored  83  for  the  Combined  Islands  against 
Lord  Brackley's  Team.  Mr.  Constantine  will  be  remembered  for 
the  brilliant  way  in  which  he  punished  the  bowling  of  Dr.  W.  G. 
Grace  and  Mr.  A.  E.  Stoddart  at  Lord's.  Mr.  Learmond,  a  steady 
but  vigorous  bat,  is  reported  to  have  much  improved  since  his  former 
visit.  Mr.  P.  Goodman,  who  made  104  v.  Derbyshire  in  igoo, 
obtained  the  only  century,  as  well  as  another  75,  against  the  last 
English  touring  side.  Mr.  Challenor  is  also  reported  to  be  a  stylish 
run-getter.  The  wicket-keeper  is  Mr.  C.  K.  Bancroft,  of  Barbados, 
and,  presumably,  Mr.  J.  E.  Parker  is  selected  as  reserve  stumper. 
JLayne  is  a  bowler  said  to  come  with  his  arm,  and  Mr.C.  S.  Morrison 
is  chosen  to  afford  occasional  assistance  in  that  department.  What- 
ever proportion  of  victories  they  obtain,  the  West  Indians  are  sure 
to  enjoy  a  very  instructive  and  enjoyable  tour. 

The  foregoing  must  abundantly  prove   that  there  is  reason  to 
anticipate  a  busy  and  important  cricket  season. 

E  E  2 

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BY    C.    V.    A.    PEEL,    F.Z.S.,    F.R.G.S. 

After  a  five  days*  hard  march  over  very  rough  country,  I  pitched 
camp  on  the  edge  of  a  huge  open  plain  a  few  miles  north-east  of 
Lake  Baringo.  The  heat  here  in  the  middle  of  the  day  was  very 
great,  and  I  think  I  must  have  had  a  touch  of  the  sun,  for  the  first 
two  days  I  felt  very  ill,  and  was  unable  to  go  out  hunting.  The 
first  morning  I  got  on  to  the  open  plain  I  saw  a  great  deal  of 
game  and  caught  sight  of  the  first  wild  giraffe  I  had  ever  set  eyes 
upon.  He  looked  positively  gigantic  as  he  slowly  walked  up  wind. 
Numbers  of  Peter's  gazelle  and  Thomson's  gazelle  were  about,  also 
a  single  ostrich,  but  all  very  wild. 

Keeping  close  under  cover  of  some  thick  thorn  bushes  I  next 
came  upon  a  large  herd  of  oryx  antelope  feeding  on  the  open  plain. 
It  was  impossible  to  get  near  them,  so  I  tried  a  prodigiously  long 
shot,  which  for  a  wonder  came  off,  and  a  fine  bull  oryx  lay  kicking 
in  the  sand.  After  we  had  got  the  skin  off  I  turned  to  go  home,  as 
I  was  still  feeling  very  weak  and  ill ;  and  while  walking  along,  a 
small  herd  of  zebras  was  seen  to  be  approaching  us.  As  they  ap- 
peared to  be  about  to  offer  a  grand  chance  for  a  photograph  at  vety 
close  quarters,  I  laid  down  my  rifle,  and  taking  cover  in  the  thick 
bushes,  began  to  get  my  camera  ready.     The  zebras  stopped ;  I  "w^ 

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BIG-GAME    SHOOTING    AT    LAKE    BARINGO       407 

obliged  to  make  towards  them,  and  was  stalking  along  very,  very 
quietly  with  my  eyes  intent  upon  them,  when  I  all  but  walked  on  to 
the  top  of  a  huge  rhinoceros  which  lay  in  a  deep  depression  in  the 
ground  before  me.  With  a  loud  snort  the  beast  jumped  up  and, 
wheeling  round,  stood  sniffing  the  air.  Armed  only  with  a  camera 
I  thought  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  squat  slowly  down  behind  a 
bush  and  await  events,  expecting  every  moment  he  would  charge  up 
wind  right  at  me.  I  felt  so  excited  that  I  forgot  all  about  the  camera 
I  was  holding,  for  I  might  easily  have  taken  a  grand  snapshot  of 
him  as  he  stood  only  a  few  yards  away,  looking  particularly  formid- 
able.    After   waiting   for   what   seemed  an  age   to   me,  he   turned 


slightly  sideways  and  moved  past  me  at  a  tremendous  pace,  snorting 
and  blowing  and  crashing  through  the  tiny  bushes  like  a  runaway 

I  was  very  thankful  when  the  boys  came  up  with  my  rifle.  We 
searched  the  dense  bush  for  some  time,  but  saw  no  more  of  the 

Next  morning  from  my  tent  door  I  could  see  such  a  sight  of 
game  that  it  was  difficult  to  credit  it  in  these  days  of  game  laws  and 
restrictions.  Almost  at  my  feet  in  this  bush  country  I  made  out 
with  my  naked  eye  several  herds  of  Peter's  gazelle  and  two  herds 
of  impala,  including  three  fine  bucks.     The  impala  in  the  Baringo 

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country  carry  the  finest  heads  of  any  I  have  ever  seen,  the  horns 
rarely  measuring  less  than  30  in.  round  the  curve. 

Farther  on  I  could  detect  innumerable  herds  of  Peter's  gazelle. 
Still  beyond  us  out  on  the  open  plain  my  glass  showed  me  a  never- 
ending  procession  of  zebra  and  oryx,  with  a  single  rhino  and  its  calf. 
In  the  far  distance  I  discerned  the  same  tall  figure  of  my  friend  the 
big  giraffe  standing  like  a  leaning  tower  of  Pisa  right  out  in  the 
open.  This  panorama,  backed  by  giant  mountains  and  a  rising  sun, 
was  the  sight  of  a  lifetime.  Turning  my  back  on  the  plains  and 
facing  hills,  I  made  out  a  single  cow  koodoo  ;  but  although  I  searched 
all  the  rocky  slopes  within  sight,  I  failed  to  make  any  more  out. 

About  eight  o'clock  I  saw  what  I  took  to  be  a  small  herd  of 


eland  mixed  up  with  some  zebras,  and  began  the  stalk  at  once.  It 
proved  the  most  arduous  of  any  I  had  so  far  undertaken,  owing  to 
the  amount  of  game  between  them  and  me.  I  had  left  my  gun- 
bearers  behind  as  usual,  as  they  had  proved  themselves  a  positive 
nuisance  when  a  scientific  stalk  was  in  progress,  for  they  never 
seemed  to  take  in  the  situation  in  the  least  degree.  As  the  time 
passed,  all  the  while  I  was  worming  myself  on  my  belly  I  was  in 
constant  dread  lest  my  gun-bearers  should  get  impatient  after  so  long 
a  wait  and  show  themselves,  but  luckily  they  knew  by  experience 
what  would  happen  should  they  dare  to  do  so. 

I  now  saw  a  fine  bull  eland  make  as  though  to  join  the  main 
body,  but  unluckily  he  turned  away  and  went  and  stood  under  some 

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BlG-GAME    SHOOTING    AT    LAKE    BARINGO      409 

thick    bushes   out  of  my   sight.     After   using   my   glass   for  some 
minutes  I  became  aware  that  a  very  large  herd  of  eland  were  before 
me.     Behind  every  tree  and  bush  were  gathered  together  three  or 
four  of  these  gigantic  antelopes.     I  made  frantic  struggles  through 
the  grass  to  get  nearer,  and  at  length  spotted  a  second  bull,  at  which 
I  fired,  hearing  the  bullet  tell.     There  was  a  wild  rush  of  animals 
for  the  open,  and  I  counted  as  many  as  fifty  cows  and  four  huge 
bulls.     I  sat  down  and  made  some  shocking  shooting  at  the  last  of 
these  latter,  which  I  took  to  be  my  wounded  one,  as  he  moved  so 
slowly  and  badly.     The  whole  herd  were  soon  out  of  range,  when 
one  of  my  men 
ran  up  saying  he 
had  seen  the  bull 
I  had  wounded, 
so  I  walked  up  to 
the     place     and 
found   a    lot    of 
blood.     We  fol- 
lowed the  spoor 
amongst     rocky 
hills     for     some 
half-mile,    when 
my  gun  -  bearer 
pointed  out  what 
he  said  was  the 
eland.      Person- 
ally I  thought  it 
was   an  ant-hill, 
for  I  could  see  no 
head.    However, 
I  sat  down,  and 
at    eighty   yards 

made  one  of  the  giant  ant-hill 

-worst  shots  in  my 

life !  But  somehow  I  thought  I  was  firing  at  nothing,  and  that 
may  partially  account  for  the  miss.  To  add  to  my  conjecture  the 
thing  I  aimed  at  never  moved,  and  I  was  fumbling  in  my  pocket  for 
another  cartridge  when  an  enormous  bull  eland  ran  from  behind  the 
bush  and  away !  He  stopped  again  after  going  a  hundred  yards, 
and  I  distinctly  heard  the  bullet  tell  on  him ;  however,  he  moved 
slowly  out  of  sight.  I  raced  after  him  till  I  could  go  no  further, 
and  sank  exhausted  amongst  the  stones.  We  followed  the  track 
for  miles,  but  lost  it  eventually  in  stony  ground. 

Next  morning  I  felt  so  sick  at  the  thought  of  losing  so  fine  a 

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trophy,  that  I  once  more  set  out  to  try  to  find  his  tracks.  By  seven 
o'clock  we  had  taken  up  the  blood  spoor,  but  it  was  terribly  slow 
work  owing  to  the  rocky  nature  of  the  ground.  Whilst  we  were 
going  along  we  heard  a  terrible  commotion  in  the  bushes  to  our  left, 
and  I  expected  to  see  the  inevitable  rhino  (which  swarmed  in  this 
part  of  the  country)  come  blundering  into  us ;  however,  it  turned  out 
to  be  a  herd  of  six  giraffe,  and  a  very  interesting  sight  it  was.  Their 
walk  is  majestic  in  the  extreme,  but  when  it  comes  to  running  these 
great  camel-like  animals  cut  rather  ridiculous  figures. 

But  to  proceed  with  our  tracking.  We  had  been  going  about 
four  hours,  and  I  could  see  my  boys  were  beginning  to  get  tired  of 
it,  when,  as  we  were  descending  into  a  rocky  gorge,  I  suddenly  saw 
the  eland  far  below  me  running  slowly  down  hill.     At  length  he 

reached  the  bottom,  went  out  into  an  open  space,  and  stood  under  a 
solitary  tree.  Now  was  the  time  for  a  stalk  !  Feeling  the  wind 
carefully  by  throwing  grass  into  the  air,  I  crawled  and  crawled  to- 
wards him  until  I  was  a  hundred  yards  off.  No  further  could  I  get 
owing  to  want  of  cover.  I  flattered  myself  my  stalking  was  gene- 
rally good,  but  my  shooting — oh,  I  knew  how  bad  it  could  be!  I 
took  plenty  of  time  and  careful  aim  before  I  fired,  but  the  eland 
never  moved.  Had  I  hit  him  or  missed  him  ?  Yesterday's  pro- 
ceedings were  to  be  reproduced  again,  I  feared.  I  crawled  nearer  (I 
was  horribly  excited,  I  own)  and  fired  again.  The  eland  did  not 
move.  I  got  up  and  ran  towards  him.  He  still  stood  with  his  head 
in  the  shade  of  that  solitary  tree.     All  at  once  he  seemed  to  realise 

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that  he  must  be  off.     He  put  up  his  head,  saw  me,  and  started  to 
run.     Was   I  going  to  lose  him  after  all?     I  ran  as  I  never  ran 
before,  found  1  gained  on  him,  and  got  up  to  within  twenty  yards 
of  him  ;  then  as  he  turned  his  great  broadside  to  me  I  put  a  bullet 
through  his  heart,  bringing  him  down  in  a  kneeling  position.     After 
photographing  him  I  tried  to  get  at  his  throat  with  my  knife,  but  he 
was  game  to  the  last,  and  with  a  low  bellow  he  flourished  his  horns 
about  me  in  threatening  fashion,  so  that  I  was  obliged  to  end  his 
troubles  with  another  ball.     He  was  a  superb  bull  eland,  measuring 
from  tip  of  nose 
to  end  of  tail  lift. 
I  in.      His   girth 
was   exactly  7  ft. 
and  his  height  at 
the  shoulders  5  ft. 
10  in.    His  horns 
measured   14  in. 
in  length. 

Next  day  I  was 

wandering  about 

the  bush  on  the 

edge  of  the  open 

plain,  when  all  at 

once    I    saw   ap- 
proaching me  in 

the     distance     a 

huge  bull  giraffe. 

With    head    and 

neck    bent    low, 

with      stooping 

shoulders      and 

slow     wandering 

gait  he  was  mak- 
ing   straight    for 

me.    Getting  my  gun-bbarbr  and  oryx  antelope 

gun-bearers  safe- 
ly hidden  from  view — a  matter  of  no  little  difficulty,  as  they 
insisted  on  walking  upright  instead  of  crawling — I  lay  amongst 
some  aloes  to  await  events.  There  were  a  number  of  Peter's 
gazelle  about  ;  some  of  them  had  seen  us  and  were  running 
or  walking  about  suspiciously.  They  turned  the  giraffe,  so  that  I 
judged  he  would  walk  past  me  at  about  three  hundred  yards. 
This  would  never  do,  I  thought,  so  I  prepared  to  stalk  him,  and 
if  possible   cut    him    off.      Every    now    and    then    he   would    stop 

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and  watch  the  gazelle  and  then  proceed  in  his  accustomed  leisurely 
fashion.  I  left  my  patch  of  aloes  and  began  to  crawl  on  all  fours. 
I  soon  found  out  I  had  plenty  to  think  about.  In  the  first  place, 
after  crawling  but  a  few  yards,  I  perceived  a  huge  rhinoceros 
walking  slowly  away  from  me  about  one  hundred  yards  in  front, 
then  I  had  the  gazelle  to  keep  out  of  the  way  on  my  right,  and 
my  quarry  the  giraffe  was  coming  on  at  a  goodly  pace,  albeit  it 
looked  so  slow. 

The  bushes  here  were  pretty  high,  so  I  ventured  to  stand  up 
and  show  myself,  first  to  the  gazelle  to  get  them  if  possible  quietly 

out  of  the  way.  It  was  a  risky  proceeding,  but  it  had  the  desired 
effect,  for  the  gazelle  slowly  walked  across  me.  I  was  now  left  with 
the  rhino  to  deal  with.  He  insisted  on  stopping  every  minute  or  so 
to  feed,  so  that  I  could  not  get  on.  I  feared  he  would  either  stam- 
pede the  giraffe  or  the  giraffe  would  stampede  him,  in  which  latter 
case  I  might  probably  have  to  run  for  it ! 

I  tried  all  the  time  to  keep  calm,  but  I  was  getting  so  close 
(barely  thirty  yards)  to  the  rhino  that  I  was  beginning  to  wish 
for  a  gun-bearer  with  a  second  gun,  as  I  held  only  a  single-barrelled 
•450  cordite  rifle.  However,  the  wind  held  right,  the  rhino  moved 
quietly,  the  giraffe  approached  rapidly,  and  I  reached  a  small  bush 

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BIG-GAME    SHOOTING    AT    LAKE     BARINGO       413 

in  safety.  Here  I  sat  down,  cocked  my  rifle,  and  waited  for  the 
gigantic  tower  to  appear — waited  for  what  seemed  an  age.  In 
reality  it  was  barely  a  minute.  At  length  the  creature  strode  in 
sight,  and  I  never  beheld  such  a  wonderful  picture  as  he  presented  as 
he  stalked  out  from  behind  some  small  thorn  trees  and  stood  broad- 
side on  watching  me  from  the  open.  He  was  quite  two  hundred 
yards  away,  but  realising  I  should  never  have  a  better  chance  I 
took  aim  and  pulled  the  trigger.  With  a  crash  that  could  be  plainly 
heard  even  at  that  great  distance,  the  huge  beast  fell  heavily  to  the 


His  total  height  was  about  16  ft.  2  in.,  his  height  at  the 
shoulders  8  ft.  10  in.,  and  his  girth  exactly  8  ft.  4  in.  He  was  a 
specimen  of  the  southern  or  two-horned  variety,  with  light  fawn- 
coloured  markings  on  a  white  ground. 

One  day,  being  short  of  meat  for  the  porters,  I  determined  to 
shoot  a  couple  of  Peter's  gazelle,  which  simply  swarmed  in  the 
thick  bush  about  here.  We  soon  found  a  herd,  which  I  stalked. 
The  biggest  animal  had  its  head  hidden  in  a  bush,  but  it  offered  a 
good  chance,  so  I  fired.  It  galloped  for  fifty  yards  full  tilt  and 
then  fell  over  dead.     It  turned  out  to  have  a  very  good  head,  and  I 

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had  just  got  my  camera  out  to  photograph  it  when  for  the  second 
time  a  rhinoceros  appeared  on  the  scene.  He  walked  slowly  past, 
so  we  sat  stock  still  till  he  vanished   into  the  bushes,  and  luckily 


neither  saw  nor  winded  us.     I  swopped  my  Mannlicher  for  my  '450 
cordite,  and   following  up  the  huge  imprints  in  the  sand  we  came 

up  with  him  in  a  very  short  time.  In  a  crouching  position  I 
advanced  behind  his  tail  until  at  length  he  turned  to  feed  in  a  thorn 
bush ;  I  then,  losing  no  time,  fired  into  his  left  shoulder  at  once.  He 

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dropped  on  to  his  knees,  and  cramming  in  another  cartridge  I  fired 
again,  knocking  him  right  off  his  fore  legs.  He  banged  the  ground 
about  with  his  head  for  a  minute,  and  then  all  movement  ceased. 
His  front  horn  measured  23  in.,  but  I  have  often  seen  larger  rhinos. 
After  having  great  sport  with  gazelle,  impala,  oryx,  Jackson's  harte- 
beest,  and  waterbuck,  I  went  down  to  the  shores  of  the  lake.  Here  I 
got  a  hippo  from  a  dug-out  native  canoe,  and  saw  the  old  tracks  of 
buffalo  and  elephant.     But  the  heat  down  by  the  lake  was  terrific, 


and  so  were  the  mosquitos,  which  forced  me  to  beat  a  hasty  retreat 
out  of  what  must  be  a  magnificent  game  country.  We  marched 
through  thick  thorn  bush  the  first  day,  and  the  porters  got  charged 
by  a  rhino.  The  number  of  tracks  of  these  animals  is  incredible  in 
this  part  of  the  country,  and  the  wonder  to  me  was  that  we  did 
not  see  more  of  the  animals  themselves. 

On  the  way  back  we  tried  for  elephant  at  Lake  Hannington, 
but  the  tracks  were  all  old. 

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Google       1 


I  shot  near  the  lake  an  enormous  python  which  lay  in  my  path 
one  early  morning.  I  all  but  trod  on  it,  taking  it  to  be  the  stump 
of  a  tree !  The  reptile  was  so  heavy  I  could  not  lift  it.  It 
measured  exactly  15  ft.,  and  its  greatest  girth  was  16^  in. 

The  natives  about  these  parts  consisted  of  Kamazia  and  Suk, 
and  were  friendly.     The  Suk,  I  think,  are  the  most  extraordinary- 


looking  people  I  ever  beheld.  The  men  mat  their  long  hair  into  a 
huge  pouch  or  bag,  in  which  they  keep  various  articles,  such  as 
beads,  tobacco,  snuff,  etc.  From  this  pouch  proceeds  a  long  curved 
bristle  ending  in  a  small  ball  of  fluff,  reminding  one  exactly  of  the 
head-dress  of  a  pantaloon  in  a  Christmas  pantomime. 

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Whether  a  racing  season  will  prove  exciting,  merely  ordinary,  or 
exceptionally  dull,  must  always  be  a  matter  of  the  purest  speculation 
before  it  begins.  There  may  be  a  phenomenal  lot  of  two-year-olds 
to  rival  the  wonderful  year  1885,  when  Ormonde,  Minting,  The  Bard, 
Saraband,  and  others  started  their  careers;  and  then  of  course  some 
animals  we  have  already  seen  may  make  extraordinary  improvement; 
whilst  in  addition  there  are  always  a  few  dark  three-year-olds  that 
for  some  reason  or  other  have  missed  their  two-year-old  engagements, 
the  most  notable  of  these  at  the  present  time  being  His  Majesty's 
Nulli  Secundus.  When  I  wrote  an  article  similar  to  this  twelve 
months  ago  I  quoted  Richard  Marsh,  who  had  been  kind  enough  to 
write  to  me  saying  that  he  much  preferred  Mor^s  to  Nulli  Secundus 
— the  latter,  he  observed,  "  looks  like  making  a  very  big  horse,  coming 
late,  and  is  rather  on  the  coarse  side.  He  has  not  nearly  such  good 
action  as  Mor^s,  whose  action  is  almost  perfect."  I  had  seen  both 
colts  as  yearlings  at  Sandringham  and  had  been  greatly  struck  by 
them.     At  present,  for  some  unknown  reason,  unfounded  opinions 

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have  been  formed  about  the  two,  the  son  of  St.  Simon  and  Nunsuch 
being  preferred  to  the  half-brother  to  Zinfandel,  and  from  the  fact 
of  Nulli  Secundus  having  been  nibbled  at  for  the  Derby  it  is 
evidently  supposed  that  there  are  great  possibilities  about  him. 
How  the  idea  obtained  currency  it  would  be  interesting  to  know, 
for  the  trainer  himself  is  quite  in  the  dark. 

For  some  years  past  the  three-year-old  colts  have  rarely  risen 
beyond  the  **  moderate"  standard,  though  it  need  hardly  be  said 
that  Pretty  Polly  is  famous  among  fillies  as  one  who  will  always  live 
in  Turf  history,  and  happily  she  is  starting  her  preparations  for  the 
season's  ^rork  in  perfect  fettle.  She  of  course  stands  out  by  herself, 
and  it  is  only  to  be  hoped  that  Presto  II.,  the  only  animal  that  has 
ever  finished  in  front  of  her  on  a  racecourse,  will  come  to  Ascot  in 
June  to  let  us  see  how  right  or  wrong  that  result  may  have  been. 
Shrewd  and  practical  racegoers  dislike  excuses  and  always  look  on 
them  with  suspicion,  but  a  journey  across  the  Channel  may  upset 
a  mare — or  a  horse  either  for  the  matter  of  that.  It  is  unquestion- 
ably a  handicap.  Presto  ran  creditably  last  season,  winning  nine 
races  out  of  thirteen ;  Pretty  Polly  was  absolutely  invincible,  and 
until  Presto  beats  her  again  there  will  be  a  strong  consensus  of 
opinion  in  England  that  for  once,  in  the  Prix  du  Conseil  Municipal 
at  Longchamps,  she  did  not  give  her  running. 

What  one  usually  looks  at  first  in  a  consideration  of  the  season 
is  the  Derby,  and  there  are  materials,  so  far  as  can  be  judged  at 
present,  for  a  sufficiently  interesting  race.  In  such  little  betting  as 
has  taken  place,  Lally  has  naturally  been  made  favourite.  His 
performances  last  season  merit  the  position.  After  his  first  essay, 
when  he  finished  third  to  undistinguished  animals — but  frequently 
**  first  time  out  "  counts  for  nothing — he  failed  only  twice  in  nine 
races.  At  Ascot  he  was  called  upon  to  do  duty  two  days  running, 
and  probably  on  the  second  occasion  felt  the  effects  of  his  first  race. 
His  other  defeat  was  perhaps  his  most  creditable  performance,  for  it 
took  place  in  Ireland,  he  had  the  long  journey  "in  him,**  and  this, 
in  the  opinion  of  experienced  men,  as  a  general  rule  reduces  a  horse 
greatly  below  his  form ;  but  yet  he  only  failed  by  a  short  head  to 
give  no  less  a  weight  than  20  lb.  to  a  more  than  useful  colt  in 
Athleague.  That  Lally  was  the  best  two-year-old  of  the  season  is 
accepted ;  but  there  is  always  one  great  question  about  a  three-year- 
old,  and  that  is  whether  he  stays.  Amphion,  his  sire,  cannot  be 
rated  as  a  stayer,  and  none  of  his  sons  or  daughters  has  been 
successful  over  a  distance  of  ground.  It  remains  to  be  proved 
whether  Lally  can  stay.  He  has  not  quite  held  his  position  in  the 
market.  A  rumour  on  the  subject  of  his  wind  got  abroad,  but  this 
may  mean  nothing :  such  stories  are  often  current  without  reason. 

NO.  cxxix.    VOL.  xxu.^April  1906  F  F 

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Lally  is  doing  good  work,  but  it  will  be  some  weeks  yet  before  he 
is  fit  enough  to  be  tried,  and  until  it  has  been  ascertained  that  he 
can  last  at  top  speed  for  a  mile  and  a  half,  7  to  2  is  an  absurd  price 
to  take  about  him  for  the  Derby.  He  is  not  in  the  Two  Thousand 
Guineas,  but  has  been  entered  for  the  Newmarket  Stakes,  run  a 
fortnight  later,  on  May  20,  that  being  his  first  engagement  of 
the  season. 

What  is  there  to  beat  him  ?     Returning  to  my  article  of  a  year 
ago  I  find  that  Colonel  W.  Hall  Walker,  in  a  long  letter  he  was  good 
enough  to  write  to  me,  included  a  eulogy  of  Black  Arrow.     The 
colt,  he  said,  would  probably  rank  in  the  first  class,  and  if  he  did  not 
prove  as  good  as  Bendigo,  his  owner  declared  that  be  would  be 
greatly  disappointed,  for  Black  Arrow  looked  and  moved  in  a  manner 
which  suggested  his  superiority  to  either  of  his  half-sisters,  Jean's 
Folly  or  Cherry  Lass.     He  won  his  first  two  races  in  the  manner 
which  was  expected  of  him,  so  that  after  Ascot  his  price  for  the 
Derby  was  inquired  about,  and  it  is  said  that  in  the  anticipation  of 
his  proving  a  wonder  no  more  than  5  to  2  was  offered.     His  per- 
formance at  Goodwood,  however,  was  nothing  short  of  a  tragedy. 
With  odds  of  20  to  i  on  him  he  went  to  the  post,  but  compK)rted 
himself  there  in  such  mad  fashion  that  the  price  gradually  diminished 
to  100  to  7  on  him.     He  resolutely  declined  to  start,  and  took  no 
part  in  the  race,  to  the  consternation  of  all  connected  with  him. 
Next  time  out  he  retrieved  his  character  by  winning  the  Champion 
Breeders'  Biennial  Foal  Stakes  at  Derby,  and  so  was  esteemed  a 
certainty  for  a  similar  event  at  Kempton,  in  which  he  met  Lally,  set 
to  give  him  4  lb.    The  betting  here  was  5  to  2  on  Black  Arrow,  3  to  i 
Lally,  100  to  6  others;  but  Lally  had  things  his  own  way,  as  Black 
Arrow  refused  to  gallop.     On  the  following  Tuesday  he  would  do 
nothing  in  the  Champagne  Stakes  at  Doncaster;  and  at  Newmarket, 
in  the  Clearwell,  if  possible  he  did  less.     What  may  happen  in  the 
case  of  the  black  son  of  Count  Schomberg  and  Black  Cherry  this 
year,  who  can  say  ?     The  colt,  by  the  way,  is  described  as  a  brown, 
but  in  truth  he  is  black,  and  against  horses  of  this  colour  a  strong 
prejudice  exists   in   many  quarters.     He  has  two  dozen   or   more 
engagements,  starting  as  early  as  April  5,  and  some  people  seem 
to  have  a  strong  idea  that  he  will  fulfil  his  early  promise.    I  can  only 
repeat,  who  can  say  ? 

Another  horse  backed  for  the  Derby  is  Pretty  Polly's  half- 
brother  Admirable  Crichton,  who,  as  Mr.  Peter  Purcell  Gilpin  wrote 
to  me  before  the  colt  had  ever  run,  "  for  make  and  shape,  temper, 
constitution  and  action,  is  likely  to  shine  as  a  racehorse.*'  He  did 
not  come  out  till  the  Second  Newmarket  July  Meeting,  and  was  then 
understood  to  be  so  backward  that  in  a  moderate  field  of  five  for  the 


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Chesterfield  Stakes  3  to  i  was  oflfered  against  him,  the  favourite  at 
II  to  8  being  a  bad  filly  called  Rayon,  a  daughter  of  Diamond 
Jubilee  and  Asteria,  who  has  yet  to  win  a  race.  He  got  badly  away, 
but  came  through  his  field  and  won  comfortably.  Admirable 
Crichton  reappeared  at  Goodwood  in  the  Rous  Memorial,  in  which 
he  was  only  opposed  by  Sweet  Mary,  in  receipt  of  5  lb.  more 
than  sex  allowance,  and  odds  of  11  to  4  were  freely  laid  on  her;  but 
after  a  great  race,  for  which  Maher  who  rode  her  was  praised  in 
some  q^uarters  and  blamed  in  others,  the  colt  won  a  short  head* 
After  Goodwood  he  suffered  from  the  illness  which  so  frequently 
attacks  racehorses,  but  it  was  thought  that  he  had  recovered  when  the 
Middle  Park  Plate  was  run  for,  and  he  was  generally  preferred  to  his 

{Photograph  by  Clarenc*  Hail$y,  Newmarket) 

Stable  companion  Flair,  who,  however,  beat  him  rather  easily.    With  i 

odds  of  6  to  4  on  him  he  then  went  to  the  post  for  the  Dewhurst  * 
Plate,  in  which  he  ran  badly  behind  Picton,  Malua,  and  Gingal ;  so  that 

in  his  case  there  are  doubts  as  to  whether  his  illness  has  not  left  a  1 

permanent  mark.     He  is  going  on  well  at  present,  but  this  means  , 
little  ;  horses  often  move  attractively  in  their  work  and  seem  to  be 

at  their  best  until  a  question  is  seriously  asked  them.     When  he  is  j 

to  run  is  probably  not  at  present  decided.     He  is  in  at  Liverpool  the  ] 

first  week  of  the  season,  within  a  few  days  of  the  date  when  this  ( 

number  will  be  issued,  but  it  seems  likely  that  he  will  not  carry  silk  ] 

until  the  Two  Thousand,  run  on  May  2,  in  which  he  might  meet  I 

Black  Arrow,  NuUi  Secundus,  and  others  of  less  note.  i 

FF  2  : 

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Another  that    has    been   modestly   backed   for  the  Derby  is 
Sarcelle,  who  won  three  races  last  year,  and  was  thrice  second.    He 
is  a  son  of  Gallinule  and  Croceum,  and  may  of  course  have  made 
phenomenal  improvement ;  unless  he  has  done  so  it  seems  improb- 
able that  he  will  be  found  good  enough,  though  on  his  last  outing, 
when  beaten  by  Flair  at  Kempton  Park,  he  was  giving  her  lolb. 
over  weight   for  age.     She,  however,  won  as  she   liked.    Flair  is 
of  course  a  mare  who   must   be   taken   into   consideration  if— but 
this   "  if "   is   all-important — she   retains   her   form  ;   as  to  which 
it  cannot  be  too  often  repeated  that  a  good  two-year-old  filly  is 
almost  as  likely  as  not  to  be  comparatively  worthless  the  follow- 
ing season.     She  may  have  improved  as  Memoir  did ;  she  may,  on 
the  other  hand,  have  gone   to   pieces.     A  couple   of  years  since 
another  daughter  of  St.  Frusquin,  Fiancee,  was  supposed  to  have 
a  great  career  before  her.     She  had  won  all  her  races  as  a  two- 
year-old,  and  her  friends  were  convinced  that  she  was  just  the  sort 
of  mare  to  train  on  into  something  notable ;  as  a  three-year-old  she 
was  worthless  for  racing  purposes  and  was  turned  out  of  training. 
Game  Chick  is  another  recent  case  in  point,  and  indeed  innumerable 
instances  of  the  same  thing  might  be  quoted.     Flair  was  among  the 
best  of  a  nice  lot  of  three-year-old  fillies  last  year,  which  included 
Sweet  Mary,  Ulalume,  Water  Flower,  and  Colonia,  of  whom,  how- 
ever,  Colonia  was  a  stone   behind   Black   Arrow.     Doubts  as  to 
whether  Sweet  Mary  would   stay  have  always  been  current;  and 
Water  Flower,  after  winning  five  consecutive  races,  retired  in  July, 
which  she  would  scarcely  have  done  had  all  been  well  with  her. 
"  Makes  a  noise,"  is  the  whisper  with  regard  to  the  daughter  of 
Watercress  and  Pansy.    Between  her  and  Ulalume  there  was  in  any 
case  little  to  choose,  and  the  latter  (Gallinule — ^The  Message)  seemed, 
so   far   as  one   could  guess,  more   likely   to  train   on.     But  this 
admittedly  is  pure  speculation. 

Other  "  possibles "  in  the  Derby  are  Gorgos,  Malua,  Picton, 
and,  some  people  imagine,  the  White  Knight,  a  son  of  Desmond  and 
Pella,  who  gained  a  little  reputation  which  may  or  may  not  turn 
out  to  be  justified.  It  is  not  his  public  performance  on  which  it  is 
based.  Malua  was  talked  about  as  a  stone  in  front  of  Achilles,  and 
when  he  came  out  for  the  Fulbourne  Stakes  at  Newmarket  in  July 
he  shared  favouritism  with  Water  Flower.  After  behaving  badly  at 
the  post  he  was  left  some  lengths,  and  finished  third,  the  race  being 
held  to  prove  nothing.  With  8  st.  i  lb.  on  his  ba